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THE WR 



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OF 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



Were it but the infinitesimal fraction of a product, produce it. 

Carlyle. 

A good motto for a twelfth-cake is more respectable than a villanous 
epic poem in twelve books. 

Sydney Smith. 



NEW YORK 

1868. 



^^5.^ 

^^^v 






THE TROW & SMITH 

BOOK MANUFACTURING C OMP ANY , 
46, 48, 50 GREENE STREET, N. Y. 



PREFACE 



The miscellaneous writings contained in this 
book have been collected and . put in the present 
form as a memorial of. vthe*^ author of them; and are 
addressed to his relatives and friends, knowing full 
well that they could not, in future years, have 
a more acceptable souvenir of him whom they loved 
and lost, and of his doings while here on earth. The 
compiler is also impressed with the idea that the 
high moral tone which runs through these writings 
should not be lost sight of, especially by those who 
knew so well how to appreciate him v/hen living, for 
his high standard of truthfulness and right in all his 
relations in life. 

He had, it is true, many advantages in the im- 
provement of his mind, which was becoming more 
and more developed as he advanced in years, until 



IV • PREFACE. 



the " subtle disease " which closed his career had 
taken such deep hold of him that he was obhged to 
suspend his literary pursuits for a time, in the hope 
that his physical infirmity would pass over. But, as 
unexpectedly to himself as to his near relatives, he 
was stricken down '' in the twinkhng of an eye," 
when in the prime of life. 

We have, therefore, only to record his past 
efforts as a memento of his usefulness. 




CONTENTS 



Biographical Memoir. — Birth — Early tuition — St, Thomas' Hall — 
Remarks of Doctor Hawks — Reverend Isaac Peck — Advancement — A 
Collegiate Course — Columbia College — Graduated in 1849 — Study of the 
law with George W. Strong & Co. — Admitted to the bar — Travels in 
Europe — " Old England " — His friend Jack — Paris — Resolution when 
there — Return home — Literary pursuits — Employment more exacting — 
Profession of the law — Literary pursuits recommenced — His sudden 
death — From his boyhood up — Attention to studies — Manner of examin- 
ing works of fiction — Quick perceptions — Glancing at a note — General 
character of his reading — Extracts from the Discourses of a heathen and 
Christian writers — " My subjects " — " Privy councillors " — Precepts as a 
guide — " Death of my Mother " — Erom a friend on the occasion of his 
death 17 



Human Life. — An aged sire — Two lovely youths — Clasped each his 
hand — The one like the bee — The other the fickle fly — A scene of strange 
and fearful wonder — But these two scenes-^The sire on the verge — The 
boys hung between the two — The youth attentive — The careless boy — The 
former now girds him for the fight— The way is steep — Waters and tor- 
rents — The only way — And thou, foolish youth, where art thou now ? 
Madly clasps the cup — The humble pilgrim — With grimy sweat — Through 
it shines content 33 



VI CONTENTS. 

Mr. Padcorn's First Party. — Fifth avenue palace — StiflF young men 
— Staiinj^ — Padcorn follows their example — His astonishment — Goes down 
stairs — Following others' lead — Forms of women — Hemispherical females 
— Portentous object — Attempts to get within speaking distance— Tele- 
graphic signals — Adrift in a sea of hemispheres — He don't know why he 
went there — Received a card from Mrs. Shaw — Man with a white ribbon 
— Introduced to Miss Pork — Is " ill at ease" — Dances a quadrille — Shake- 
hand all around— Does "as others do" — Places his arm around Miss 
Pork's waist — Miss Pork indignant — Drops a courtesy to Mr. Padcorn — 
Party finally breaks up — Padcorn resolves that his first party shall be his 
last 37 

Mr. Padcorn's Party Call.—" Laying off "—Cheerful fire— The con- 
trast — A knock at the door — Mr. Tidd — Padcorn astonished — Offers Tidd 
a cigar— Not dressed for the occasion — Burton's " Anatomy " — Party call 
— Padcora mixed — A lucid interval— A week afterwards — Comme il faut 
— Think about it — Padcorn dresses — Tidd asleep— They go to Mrs. Shaw's 
— Padcorn in full dress — ^Rushes up stairs — Is sent for — Mr. Padcorn and 
Mr. Tidd announced to the Misses Shaw — Padcorn disgusted with the con- 
versation — Ill-natured remarks — The crhne of conversation — Cultivate 
their minds — Good wives — Refinement— To think of marrying one of the 
Misses Shaw ! 44 

A Lady's Hat. — "Cover for the head"— Gives no idea of a hat — 
Bandbox — An artificial covering — The male hat — The female hat — A 
work of art — The different kingdoms contribute — Taste and fancy — The 
framework, &c. — What scenes does it not conjure up! — Oh woman, 
woman! — Not satisfied 52 

A Wailing at Sea. — A legend of the sea, in which the mariners are 
swallowed up by a whale, and one of them escapes to tell the tale, an 
" owre true tale " 55 

Scene in a Court Room — Where examinations for admission to the 
bar are going on — Striving to collect scattered faculties — Getting wild — 
In agony — A light dawns — Hopeful — Encouraged— Radiant — Posse comi- 
tate 59 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Recipe for making Law Commentaries — Lately discovered among 
the papers of a defunct lawyer who flourished towards the latter part of 
the eighteenth century 62 

New Readings. — No. 1, a parody on Scott's Lochinvar — Oh, young 
Lochinvar has come out of the West — No. 2, a parody on Poe's " Raven " — 
As I sat one midnight dreary — No. 3, a parody on Casablanca — The rat 
stood on the burning dock — No, 4, a parody on Shakspeare's " Once more 
unto the breach " — Once more you're in your breeches, friends, once 
more — No. 5, a mosquito astrophe — Style of Drake's " Culprit Fay " — 
'Twas the midnight watch of a summer's night 64 

The Song of the Clerk.— After the style of Hood's "Song of the 
Shirt" — Write! write! write! '71 

Mr. Boggs' Bad Night. — Describing the annoyances of a worthy 
countryman, who, to avoid the city's wicked temptations, goes to bed 
early 73 

A Day in the Country. — Coggs and his friend go to the country for 

the first time— Cars to P , Wagon to M , The driver— They meet 

with many annoyances, become disgusted, and Coggs has not been there 
since 78 

Free Churches for the Poor. — A dialogue between a Churchman 
and a Philanthropist, in which is strongly advocated, by the latter, the 
building of free churches for the poor 84 

Reflections of a New York Policeman. — Nefarious transactions — 
Prone to err — Policemen not superior to other men — Failing for the fair 
sex — Rows, &c. — Glorious privilege — Incognito — In cold and wet weather 
— In pleasant weather — " The proper study of mankind " — The New York 
Policeman a philosopher — No evil without its accompanying good . 87 

A Dream. — Dark night had thrown her pall upon the world — Drowsy, 
I sought repose — Upon a mountain's peak — A thousand years — In that 
dread void — Oh ! frightful death ! 91 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Housekeeping.— Homely subject — The neglect of little things — The 
absence of a tea-pot — The position of a housekeeper — A sorereign — The 
destiny of young girls — Proper education — Xot sufficient to know how to 
make cakes — Her subjects — Her administration — The motto of every 
housekeeper — Housekeeping — The most noble part of woman's mission 
— The best advice for a man — " Fashionable '' w^omen — The consequence 
— The two-in-one happiness will be found wanting 93 

Happiness. — "Happiness" and "Sleep" as synonymous — Xo such 
thing as absolute happiness — The great error of mankind — The shortest 
road to happiness — " All is vanity and vexation of spirit " — The vanity of 
earth's pleasures leads man to higher and nobler aspirations — He who 
" loves God with all his heart " — A man should not make happiness his 
aim— The path of duty 98 

Causes of Southern Disturbance. — People of the North — Insult to 
the people of the United States — Violation of the Constitution — Fugitive 
Slave Law — We the people, &c. — Terms of the compact — Nine States of 
the Union — The people of the North — The election of Lincoln — Present 
Administration — Let us be patient — Southern brethren — United we 
stAud 102 

Secession ok Texas. — Can the reports be true ? — Her independence — 
A singular fact 106 

Suggestions of the Times.— Constitution — Amended — Punishment of 
treasonable language — The body physical — States of the North — Violation 
— "We at the North — Conservatives — South Carolina — Massachusetts — 
Order-loving men — The radicals — Selfish men — Such a set has the United 
States Hotel — Getting rid of them — Festers and sores — Hog pound . 107 

Stick to the Constitution. — Our duty — Abolitionists — We have 
deprecated — Extreme parties — Prmoiples opposed to slavery — Seceders — 
No, we must stick to the Constitution — Cannot be dissolved . . . Ill 

Saratoga. — First impressions of — Found all the appliances of metro- 
poUtan comfort — The clocks striking the time of night — Attempted to 



CONTENTS. IX 

discover some evidences of the country — The livery stable — " Congress 
Spring " — Devoured with €n7iui — " Indian encampment " — Roman Catho- 
lic church — " There's no rose without a thorn " — Saratoga only for in- 
valids 114 

Pertinent Inquiriks. — Is a Republic in reality a Utopia? — If not, 
what is the cause of the laxity of the Government ? — The problem to be 
solved in political science 119 

The Polar Bear about Town. — A Polar bear on my side walk — A 
bear faced imposition — Every one turns round to look at it — Small boy 
with ^' a letter in the post office "—The idea 121 

A Frenchman in New York. — Has come to America to see the " in- 
stitutions " and look after his securities — Soliloquizes 123 

Defects of Our Police. — The efficiency of laws should not be disre- 
garded — The property gained by honest industry should be protected — 
The true cause of our suffering may be traced to apathy — Policemen 
should not cease moving on their " beats " — English police . . . 125 

NocTES Novi Eboraci. — A dialogue depicting the insecurity of walk- 
ing in the streets of New York in the evening 128 

A Visitor from Hades. — A dialogue showing the inefficiency of the 
laws and a decided want of discipline in the government of the Police in 
the city of New York IBl 

First Impressions of Newport. — The Fall River route from New 
York — The scene the next morning in Newport — The scenery — In- 
habitants—The different drives— The " Cliffs "—Ironical description— 
The Fort — Bateman's Point — The sway of the "fashionables" — The 
old motto of ^^ Koblesse oblige''^ 134 

Saratoga. — One may exist at Saratoga — Hamlet — Sleep — Roystering 

blades — Sand, milliners, jewellers and overdressed women — Consolation — 

Suffering young ladies- In their dilemma — A flitting smile — A man with 

a fiddle 140 

O 



X CONTENTS. 

Newport. — The quiet man out of place — Quiet boarding-house — The 
class who " have nothing to do " — Employments — Relaxations — ^Vices — 
Flirtation — The "tigre" — Beardless boys "going to fight the beast" — 
What is a flirtation ? — Made an attempt 144 

Reformed Rakes. — The popular fallacy — A pernicious maxim — A re- 
formed rake an exceedingly rara avis — Against all reason — No man to 
make a good husband should go through a course of dissipation — It is an 
illusion — Young girls have much to answer for — Could shame the rake 
out of society — Allowed embraces — The bloom of modesty — The charm 
of woman — Rakes not to be tolerated except by those who are willing to 
endui'e tyrannical usage 151 

Aristocracy. — In this country, no legitimate aristocracy — Such an 
order of men impossible — Not allowed by the Constitution — Whence, if it 
were allowed, would members derive their origin? — An Indian pedigree — 
Our revolutionary heroes — Of such an ancestry — ^True earnest men — 
Strife between the " Old Dutch famihes " and the wealthy parvenus — In 
any other country two hundred years but a short period — Then a Dutch 
burgher in small-clothes — A Methodist parson — The true nobility of the 
American founded on his personal qualities — The peer of the proudest 
noble in Europe — His strength in manliness, self-reliance — All personal 
qualities, the true nobility of nature — The patent from God, not from a 
mere mortal 155 

Cats. — A. fells catus — A furry animal on four legs — An animal of sin- 
gular tastes — Traits of character — Her principal object in life — A luxuri- 
ous animal — Loneliness — At such a moment — " Poor pussy " — Every body 
should have a cat 160 

Fitzjones Jones. — An autobiographical sketch under the assumed 
name of Jones — His first appearance — His aunt — Private tutor — At the 
age of ten — The nursery — Felo-de-se — His reason — Anxious to go into 
society — College — Disappointed with society — Varnished stifiness — More 
restricted than in the nui-sery — The platitudes of society — " Birds of a 
feather," &c. — Fitzjones withdrew fiom society — Went to Europe — 



CONTENTS. XI 

Sought for the type there of " our best society " — Found it among the 
" middhng and higher classes " — Returned home to his native land— De- 
clined going into " society "— " Man of letters "—finally— died . . 164 

Babies.— Martin Farquhar Tupper's "Proverbial Philosophy "—A 
babe not always a well-spring of pleasure — Consolations in his future 
growth — All groan now — Many mishaps befall him — Sometimes he has 
the measles, sometimes the scarlet fever, &c. — If I spank him he cries — 
Naughty papa 'hip 'e 'ittle baby — Expecting the whooping-cough — Happy 
the lot of the bachelor 169 

My Watch.— a poetic description of a watch that goes " but when it 
wills" 1*72 

Autobiography of One Fritz.— Born at a minute period of this 
world's history— Being now 614,000 minutes— No recollection of my 
father — Am of a good family — My complexion— I might be called a lilli- 
putian — When I first saw the light — In a stable — A " very small dog " 
for a lady— Oh, the dear little fellow !— In doubt whether I'm a " duckey " 
or a " dovey " — In jumping from a chair broke my leg — Clapped into a 
box — Suflfer from enimi ] 74 

Ten Thousand Minutes After. — The sequel of the autobiography of 
"One Fritz"— Time and ether singular institutions— Philosophical— The 
surgeon — Laid on a table — Ether — The effects — My leg now as stiff as a 
poker — Ether an atrocious scoundrel 179 

City Government and Elections. — The Republican Party has suc- 
ceeded, but what will it gain ? — There will be no Reform !— Change of 
system required 183 

On Duelling. — Disgraces the annals of civilized man — Sustained by a 
false code of honor — A man's toes trodden on, he sends a challenge — 
Duelling no test of courage — In the universe of letters — so much irony 
as in that short epistle — A "challenge" 185 

What is Friendliness.— Be friendly with every one— Angelo Tit- 



Xll CONTENTS. 

marsh — " Love your neighbor as yourself" — The pith and essence — No 
distinction iu regard to the heart — Common to all — The rich — The high- 
born — The same heart beats for all • .... 188 

The Reformation of Criminals. — No maudlin sympathy for crimi- 
nals — Pseudo-philanthropists — Erring human beings — Not past recall — 
Reformation after punishment — Such an agent a powerful one— Strike at 
the root — Put criminals in prison — Punish them — A criminal fresh from 
prison — Prepared to lend a willing ear — It is here the philanthropist ought 
to make his appearance — After he has been subdued — An Institution 
should be established — To act mediately — If to rescue a fellow-being — 
First, the preparative process — Second, the curative one .... 191 

Our Street, or the Sacredness of Home. — Our street a short one — 
A settled gloom rests over it — Intrigue — Pride and folly — The houses 
have a mysterious look — But home is home — " Be it ever so humble " — 
The true spirit of home — The young man about town — "Home, sweet 
home" — Oh, fathers! mothers, sisters — Keep the hearth-stone sacred — 
And so with myself — Memory brings back the time — And my home is 
home though it be in " our street " 196 

Matrimony with a Pipe in it. — Dialogue between Charles Augustus 
and Jack on the subject of Matrimony and Smoking a pipe . . . 200 

Ambition ; or what my wife said and what I thought but didn't say. — 
A contest between man and wife, principally on the subject of ambition — 
or, a staid old bachelor who takes to himself an ambitious wife . . 207 

My Subjects. — Books personified — " I am monarch of all I survey " — 
Window shade — Diflferent articles of furniture — My " House of Lords " — 
Privy-councillors — Ministers of finance — Poets laureate — Chaplain — 
" Played out " looking monarch — Watching my subjects — Noting what 
they are about — De Quincey steps forward— Opening of a conference — 
Favorite theory — The graces of Oratory subservient to Truth— Conference 
dismissed — Lighting a pipe — Beatrice di Cenci 213 

Ambition; nr My Wife again. — Fancied idea in regard to his subjects 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

— Going to Indiana— The last party night — Going to church — My wife to 
myself — My prisons — Mr. Burk, not '' the sublime " — Genealogy — William 
the Conqueror — The Plantagenets — The barons of Gatinais — The " Old 
Noblesse " of France — The German — The Castilian of Spain — The Irish- 
man — The Englishman — The Welchman — Zimmermann — The King of 
Malacca — The Mogul — The kings of Madura 221 

My Scientific Pursuits — How I came to study Astronomy. — Conver- 
sation with his wife — The next day proceeded to do something — The ad- 
vice of De Quincey — Pitched upon chemistry — The fitting up of a labora- 
tory — His wife — What is the meaning of all this — A future Liebig — A 
chemist — The key in the chemist's wife's pocket — The wife not convinced 
— The physical nature of man — It was all of no use — Chemistry aban- 
doned — Took up physiology — Animated skeletons — The bony part too 
hard a subject — Determined to study some science — Ran over the 
sciences — Soared up to astronomy — Pythagoras — Copernicus — Kepler — 
Galileo — Conversation with his wife — The doctor — Beneficial effects of 
the study of astronomy 228 

The Vicissitudes of Babies, — The vicissitudes of human life — Now, 
if we look a little closer — A baby not endowed with a great amount of in- 
tellectual power — The advance of civilization — Fashion ordains — The 
beautiful dictate of woman's nature — The influence of such a mother — 
Let Fashion dictate to our foolish girls — Touching sight — Fashion dares 
to plant her cold tread — Hubbub in the baby world — Circulation of babies 
— Frightful state — When Fashion interferes 236 

The Woods and Fields. — Going to Saratoga — To Sharon — To get out 
of the hot and dusty town — Within one hour's ride of the city — On the 
banks of the Hudson — Rural sights and sounds — A small boy in a cherry 
tree — A tall girl in the garden — Trees waving in the breeze — Short- 
sleeved Jim — Jemima — Nature sleeps — Man of thought — The time of day 
in the country — Sunset — Night — Breakfast — Conclusion — Chacun d son 
idee 240 

A BoARDiNG-HousE IN THE COUNTRY. — A lively time — Twenty indi- 



XIV CONTENTS. 

viduals — Each standing for his own rights — Explosion — Might happen — 
Two or three men act as a fly-wheel — A woman's reason — Luxurious 
creatures — Mrs. So-and-So — Squabbles to be adjusted — What is the 
remedy — Billy-goat — Lesson from Billy 245 

Sharon Springs. — Hole-in-the-wall — *' Sharon is full" — "The cock of 
the roost" — The society—-" Oh, it's very nice " — Dogs — Servants — "Low 
life up stairs " — Religion — Millennial — The Union church — Sharon a de • 
lightful place — The countrymen — Called blase — Walks — Woods — Quiet 
nooks 251 

Society at Sharon. — Allah Akbar! — We are in the Pavilion — The 
front piazza — Not a fixture — The Pavilioners — The springs— The village 
of Sharon Springs — Sunset Hill— "Admirable Crichton" — Sulphur water 
— Marshy ground — Views — Sheep — " High Society " principles — Benevo- 
lent looking old lady — Lady supervisors — Good-nature per se — Something 
in addition — Society 25*7 

Charms op the Country. — We have been poking about watering- 
places — So have come to the country — It is not the " ton " — The ton in 
summer infests big piazzas — Clothes — Lady-landladies — Pseudo-refinement 
— Rich husbands and wives — Mammas — Papas — One week a different man 
— New sensation — Eggs grow — Chickens — Ripe eggs — Milk — Butter — A 
woman with an apron — Greatest delight — Hay — Syther — Jolly drives — 
Love — Girl with a sun-burnt face — An other sensation — Bacon's philosophy 
— Little siren — Extraordinary circumstance — An idea — But a woman ! 
— A tangible idea — Conflicting emotions — Ah ! here's Shakspeare — ^What 
say you ? 263 

A Ballad — On a little girl who was burnt to death July 5th — It was 
a bright and sunny day 270 

For that Young Woman. — A crying nuisance — Lugubrious songs — 
Change of melody — If alleviating — by singing a leeile lower — If result 
the same — Fine voice — Pathetic 272 

Pages from the Diary of a Lady's Man. — Woke up this morning at 



CONTENTS. XV 

11 — Put on my new doeskins — Brushed my hair as usual — It was then 
3 P.M. — Saw Araminta — She was dressed in a beautiful silk — A sweet head- 
dress — The gems in her bracelet — The diamonds on her taper fingers — 
She's an heiress — Ten thousand a year! — I could dress superbly — But her 
property may be mortgaged — Monday — Awoke this morning at 1 — Too 
indolent to dress, &e., &c. — To-n)orrow night Arry will be mine ! . 2*74 

Lebanon and the. Shakers. — A trip to Lebanon Springs to spend the 
4th of July — A cloudy morning — Changed ears at Bridgeport — The 
scenery became more and more beautiful — Up the valley of the Housa- 
tonic and through the Berkshire hills — At times enchanting — Reached 
Pittsfield — Took seats for Lebanon — Two old ladies beguiled the tedium of 
the way — Their botanical researches — Arrived at Lebanon — On the after- 
noon of the 4th went to see the Shakers — Before reaching the village 
the hand of the Shaker may be s:en — Village composed of twenty to 
thirty houses — We went to a store where a pretty woman attended — A 
smiling welcome — A pure look of benevolence — Girl kneading dough — 
Went to see the Shaker form of worship on Sunday— Seats separated by 
a rail from the ladies — Pretty soon the Shakers came in — Men in shirt- 
sleeves — The women — Dancing to the tune of the " Bould Soldier Boy " — 
Marching — " I want a piece of pie " — Several of them addressed the 
meeting — Dismissed — Singular people 2*79 

Early Days. — A poetic description of the freshness of youth com- 
pared with languor and decay — When the ruddy cheek and springy step 
are gone 286 

Night. — A poem descriptive of night-scenes, with explanatory 
notes 289 




BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIE. 



vITeorge Pollen was born in tlie city of New Yoi-k, 
July 13, 1829. At an early age he was placed under 
tuition, and advanced rapidly in his studies. When 
in his twelfth year, he was put under the immediate 
guidance of the Rev. Dr. Hawks, where he remained 
for some considerable length of time, giving, as the 
Doctor often remarked, great promise of future useful- 
ness by his aptness in the different branches of study 
then pursued, including Latin, Greek, and the French 
languages ; as also a complete course in matliematics. 
Just at the time, how^ever, when he was making such 
rapid progress under the admirable system of the 
Reverend Doctor, the school, St. Thomas' Hall, was 
given up, and the Doctor was called to another scene 
of action. George had then reached his fifteenth year. 
The Rev. Isaac Peck was then about forming a 
small class, for the purpose of advancing young men 
3 



l8 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 

in the clR,ssi(3s, in which it was thought advisable to 
include him. Mr. Peck being a very ripe scholar, and 
one of the first mathematicians of the day, was also in 
possession of a great deal of experience in the mental 
cultivation of young men. He continued in this class 
until approaching his seventeenth year, giving con- 
tinued promise in the higher branches of study. 

It was then thought proper, in order to give a 
wider scope to the unfolding of his mind, to complete 
his education by a collegiate course ; he therefore 
entered Columbia College, and passing through the 
different classes, graduated in the Fall of 1849, in the 
21st year of his age. 

The following year (1850), he having chosen of 
his own accord, the profession of the law, he com- 
menced that study with Messrs. George W. Strong 
& Co., and was admitted to the bar on the 11th of 
February, 1853. 

Pending the period of his studies of the law, and 
subsequently, he spent some time in Europe, in travel- 
ling and in literary researches. Of all countries there, 
" Old England " was his delight, where, with his 
bosom friend (Jack), he surfeited on the rich literature 
of the country. He loved '' Old England," as he 
would often remark, for her free government— for her 
glorious galaxy of profound writers — for her institu- 
tions — as the asylum of the oppressed of all nations — 
as the country of his ancestors. . 

He also spent some time in Paris, and among his 



BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 1 9 

papers was found the following resolution, wliich 
shows the bent of his mind while there, viz. : 

Resolved. — No longer to dally with my conscience, but 
to set to work in earnest, to read and study my Bible, to 
seek for the truths and to allow no passion or feeling to 
interfere with its pursuit, and when tbund, to follow it to 
the best of my ability, 

1. Rise every moi*ning at V. 

2. To read at least three chapters in the Bible. 

3. To study Natural Philosophy till 12. 

4. From 12 to 2, walk, &c. 

5. From 2 to 5, study French. 

6. Every evening except two in the week to spend at 
home in reading, those two to go to " the Opera ; " but 
no place of low amusement. 

On his return home, literary pursuits being more 
congenial to his tastes than the practice of the law, he 
gave himself up to the former, as far as the indifferent 
state of his health would permit, for a considerable 
length of time. 

But, after having spent some time solely in such 
pursuits, he felt as though he should have some em- 
ployment more exacting to claim his attention ; and 
he was induced to take an office, with a view of prac- 
tising in his profession of the law, which he did m con- 
nection with one of his most esteemed collegiate com- 
panions, who now stands high in his profession, and 
bids fair to be one of the leading men of his day. 



20 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 

But this course not bringing that solace to his mind 
that he expected to derive from it, and feeling, after 
an effort of two years, that he was not fully calculated 
for the practice of the law, he went back to his literary 
pursuits, which he adhered to until a short period 
before he was summoned to another world, bj disease 
of the heart, on the 20th of November, 1867. 

From his boyhood up, he was always a great reader 
— a close student — ever in search of truth / and being 
of a genial and generous disposition, his sole aim was 
to make those around him happy. We need scarcely 
add he fully succeeded in doing so, with his ever flow- 
ing wit and vivacity, coming, as it did, from an open 
heart. 

His reading was diverse, as he was always alive to 
novelties in literature, an ever living variety being 
kept up by the introduction of new works, the pursuit 
of them afforded him pleasing pastime during his 
leisure hours. Every new work that came under his 
observation, however obscure the author, seemed to 
claim his particular attention. In examining works 
of fiction, except such productions as "My Novel" 
and " Les Miserables," he seemed rather to gallop 
through than to read them, leaping, as it were, from 
page to page in quick succession ; for, in print or 
manuscri])t, when the characters were legible, he 
would imi)ress upon his mind the entire substance of 
a page almost at a glance, so quick were his imme- 
diate perceptions. A gentleman called on him one 



BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 21 

evening with a note, requesting his opinion of 
its contents. He gave it merely a glance and re- 
turned it. " Why," said the gentleman, " vvdll you 
please read it ? " But he soon convinced his friend 
that he had the whole substance of it already in his 
mind. 

The general character of his reading was essentially 
instructive, with a strong tendency toward religious 
and moral productions which, written as they were 
with so much earnestness, he took great interest in, 
particularly those of the early writers — Epictetus — 
Chrysostom — Thomas a Kempis. His common-place 
book abounds with extracts from their writings, of 
which we give below a few examples, inasmuch as he 
devoted a portion of his time 

To read — 

And con them o'er. 

If you are fond of an earthen cup, consider it is but 
earthen ware, and you cannot be much troubled or sur- 
prised, whenever it happens to be broken. And if you 
be fond of a child or a wife, consider these are of human, 
that of a frail mortal nature, and thus your surprise and 
concern will be the less when death takes either of them 
away from you. 

None but ignorant or undisciplined people tax others 
with their own misfortunes. The young proficient blames 
himself; but he who is a philosopher indeed, blames 
neither others nor himself. 

Suffer not yourself to be exalted with any excellence 



2 2 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 

not properly your own. You will say, then, what is a 
man's own ? I answer, a right use of one's ideas. 

When the ravens croak, or any other ominous thing 
happens, let not any superstitious fancies disturb or affright 
you. Whatever disaster happens, you may, if you please, 
reap some very considerable advantage from it. 

Behave yourself as becomes a man fully persuaded, 
that no external accident is any thing to you, and that 
nothing can possibly happen which may not, by good 
management, be converted to your advantage, though all 
the world should endeavor to obstruct it. 

As sheep do not give up again the grass they have 
eaten to show how well they are fed, but prove the good- 
ness of the pasture and their own case, by concocting 
their meals well, and bringmg a large fleece, and giving 
large quantities of milk; so you must approve the ex- 
cellence of your doctrine to the world, not by disputes 
and plausible harangues, but by digesting them into prac- 
tice, and growing strong in virtue. 

Remember that the world is a theatre, and that your 
part in the play of life is determined by the poet. Con- 
sider that the playing of the part assigned to you com- 
mendably, depends upon yourself. This is your business, 
but the giving out of the parts and choosing the actors, is 
not yours, but another person's. 

If you resolve to make wisdom and virtue the study 
and business of your life, you must be sure to arm your- 
self beforehand against all the inconveniences and dis- 
couragements that are likely to attend the resolution. — 
Epictetus. 



BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 23 

With all men we have many things in common. They 
partake of the same nature with om-selves ; they inhabit 
the same earth ; they are nourished by the same food ; 
they have the same Lord ; and they are called to the same 
blessings. Let us not then say that we have nothing in com- 
mon with them. This were the voice of Satan, the enmity 
of the devil. Let us not utter such things, but rather let 
us show toward our brethren a becoming solicitude. 

One man inspired with holy zeal sufficeth to amend an 
entire people. 

Let us not sink imder trials ; for no one who is effemi- 
nate, or slothful, or remiss — no one who liveth a soft or 
dissolute life hath communion with Christ. But he who 
is in sorrows and temptations, and journey eth the narrow 
path, is nigh unto Him. For He also went that same way, 
and therefore said, " The Son of man hath not where to 
lay His head." 

God hath given us reason, that it might learn and 
receive the things imparted to it by God, not that, unaid- 
ed, it should deem itself to be sufficient. The eyes are 
beautiful and useful; but if they desire to see without 
light, their beauty and power will injure and not avail 
them. Thus it is with human reason. If it should see 
without the Divine Spirit, it would stand in its own way. 

He requireth us to fast, not for the sake of fasting 
only, but that we should withdraw ourselves from worldly 
affairs, and devote our thoughts to things spiritual. 

What was it that rendered the Apostles so great ? A 
disregard of wealth, a contempt of worldly distinction, a 
renunciation of the good things of this present life. 



24 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 

Pride alone snfficeth to corrupt every virtue of the 
soul, be it alms, or be it prayer, fasting, or auglit besides ; 
for that which is highly esteemed among men is abomina- 
tion in the sight of God. Therefore it is not only fornica- 
tion and adultery which pollute a man, but likewise, and 
much more than these, pride. 

He best knoweth himself, who accounteth himself as 
nothing. On the other hand, he knoweth himself least, 
who is lifted up by pride. 

But what is humility ? It is to acknowledge our 
faults, when accused by others, and to bear their reviling ; 
and even this is not humility, but candour. 

The laws of this world draw distinctions between men, 
because they are made by men ; but the law of our com- 
mon Lord knoweth no such distinction, and dispenseth the 
same blessings equally to all. — Chrysostom. 

Every man naturally desires to increase in knowledge ; 
but what doth knowledge profit without the fear of the 
Lord? Better is the humble peasant that serveth God, 
than the proud philosopher who, destitute of the knowl- 
edge of himself, can describe the course of the planets. 

Here thou art called to a life of subjection, labor, and 
patience ; not of dominion, idleness, and amusement. 

Gird thy loins like a valiant man, and be continually 
watchful against the malicious stratagems of the devil. 
Bridle the appetite of gluttony, and thou wilt with less 
difficulty restrain all other inordinate desires of animal 
nature. Never sufier the invaluable moments of thy life 
to steal by unimproved, and leave thee in idleness and 



BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 25- 

vacancy ; but be always either readincr, or writing, or 
praying, or meditating, or employed in some useful labor 
for the common good. 

Our sensual appetites continually prompt us to range 
abroad in search of continual gratification ; but when the 
hour of wandering is over, what do we bring home but 
remorse of conscience, and weariness and dissipation of 
spirit ? A joyful going out is often succeeded by a sad 
return ; and a merry evening brings forth a sorrowful 
morning. Thus all carnal joy enters delightfully, but, ere 
it departs, bites and kills. 

There is no true liberty, nor any solid joy but in the 
fear of God, united with a pure conscience. 

When it is morning, think that thou mayest not live 
till evening ; and in the evening, presume not to promise 
thyself another morning. Be therefore ahvays ready ; 
and so live, that death may not find thee confounded at 
its summons. 

Simplicity and purity are the two wings with which 
man soars above the earth and all temporary nature. 

A pure conscience is the ground of perpetual exulta- 
tion : it will support a man under the severest trials, and 
enable him to rejoice in the depths of adversity : but an 
evil conscience, in every state of life, is full of disquietude 
and fear. Thou wilt always enjoy tranquillity, if thy heart 
condemn thee not. 

To suffer is thy portion, and to suffer patiently and 
willingly is the great testimony of thy love and allegiance 
to thy Lord. 

When, therefore, we have read all books, and examined 



26 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 

all methods to find out the path that will lead us back to 
the blessed state from which w^e have wandered, this con- 
clusion only will remain : 

" That through much tribulation we must enter into 
the kingdom of God." — Thomas a Kempis. 

Would we know ourselves, we must consider ourselves 
as creatures, as Christians, and as men ; and remember the 
obligations, which, as such, we are under to God, to 
Christ, and our fellow-men, in the several relations in 
which w^e stand to them, in order to maintain the pro- 
priety, and fulfil the duties of those relations. 

A man can never rightly know himself, unless he 
examine into his knowledge of other things. 

We must consider then the knowledge we have ; and 
whether w^e do not set too high a price upon it, and too 
great a value upon ourselves on the account of it ; of 
what leal use it is to us, and what effect it hath upon us ; 
whether it does not make us too stiff, unsociable, and 
assuming ; testy and supercilious, and ready to despise 
others for their supposed ignorance. If so, our knowledge, 
be what it will, does us more harm than good. Such a 
temper, with all our knowledge, shows that we know not 
ourselves. 

The outward actions of a man are generally the plain- 
est index of his inward dispositions ; and by the allowed 
sins of his life, you may know the reigning vices of his 
mind. Is he addicted to luxury and debauch ? sensuality 
then appears to be his prevailing taste. Is he given to 
revenge and cruelty ? choler and malice then reign in his 



BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 



27 



heart. Is he confident, bold, and enterprising? ambition 
appears to be the secret spring. Is he sly and designing, 
given to intrigue and artifice ? you may conclude there is a 
natural subtlety of temper that prompts him to this. And 
this secret disposition is criminal, in proportion to the 
degree in which these outward actions, which spring from 
it, transgress the bounds of reason and virtue. — Mason. 

It will be seen by the article entitled "My Sub- 
jects," or books personified, that Epictetus, Thomas a 
Keiiipis, and Mason were named as his " privj-conn- 
cillors," and, with St. Chrysostom, flourished at differ- 
ent periods from the 2d to the 18th centuries. From 
the soundness of their precepts, it appears that con- 
sistent ideas were inculcated in the different stages of 
the Christian era, in which they figured, in regard to 
moral and religious duties ; as no person can be strictly 
religious under "• the Christian dispensation " without 
being a model of morality ; for it is well known that, un- 
less he perform his full duty toward his fellow-man, he 
cannot be faultless as a member of the Christian faith. 

The precepts, then, of those w^riters, may well be 
adopted as a guide of conduct through life ; and in 
their writings they may be discreetly considered as 
one's privy -councillors, by those w^ho seek to be gov- 
erned by such sound doctrine as they propounded. In 
regard to self-knowledge, doubtless no one has ever 
written more clearly on the great maxim, "Know 
thyself^' than the Eev. John Mason. 



2 8 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 

The following lines, entitled " Death of My 
Mother," were found in his private desk after his 
decease, Avhere they had lain over twenty-two years, 
unseen by others than himself — a concealment which 
was akin to his natural modesty in avoiding publica- 
tions in his own name. They were dated May 16th, 
1845 — then in his sixteenth year. 

Two days ! two sorrowing days have passed ! 

Since my dear mother's death took place, 
And now she's gone from me at laist. 

And never more I'll see her face. 

Sad was the night on which she died, 
When round her dying bed we stood, 

We looked upon her as we cried. 
And as she told us to be good. 

To ber I fled from all my cares ; 

She shared with me my soitows all. 
And plucked from my young soul, the tares 

Which with the wheat had grown withal. 

Now to no mother can I flee, 

Now I must suffer them alone. 
Though sympathizing friends there be 

Like my dear mother, I have none. 

But now no sorrow does she know. 
From this deceitful world she's passed. 

In the cold grave her body's low. 
But her soul soars on high at last. 



BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 29 

We close this memoir by an abstract from an 
article, written by a friend on the occasion of his 
death, as follows : 

Death is always terrible, but when it comes in life's 
maturity to those for whom we might naturally expect 
years of usefulness; whose early talents promised great 
things in the future, it is doubly terrible. So it was with 
him, the notice of whose decease now appears in the 
obituary list. 

Educated in the best schools, * * * familiar with 
all modem Hterature, having himself taken his first steps 
in that path with a success which promised better things, 
* * * what might not have been expected of him ? 

But in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, he was 
stricken down by one of those subtle affections of the heart 
which defy the foresight and the power of medicine. 

Generous, kind-hearted, beloved by all, and — dead. 




WRITI NGS 



OF 



GEORGE POLLEN 



HUMAN LIFE. 

J^-N aged sire stood in lofty height 
Upon the plain of life. Two lovely youths, 
In the full prime of health and joy, clasped each 
His hand, while he in tones of sadness spoke 
Of the dread sorrows in their path through life ; 
With heartfelt wishes for their welfare, told 
What were the means and what way their path 
They should pursue. The two, attentive, listened 
As he spoke ; but one hung, as it were. 
Upon his very words, and as the bee 
He wisely stored them up for future use. 
Th' other, more hke the fickle fly, alighted 
On the sweets, and quafled his fill, but thought 
Not of the future, while ever and anon. 
Leaving his guardian's hand, he sported with 
The pleasures on the road, and in the scenes 
Of present joy, lost sight of all the future. 
It was a scene of strange and fearful wonder ; 



34 



WRITINGS OF 



Upon each side stretched prospects of the future. 

On this, high cragged rocks and mountain-heights 

Aspired to the sky, while on them lowered 

Dark threat'ning clouds, and seemed to stop the way ; 

On that, a level, fertile plain, o'er which 

The golden clouds hung in encircling beauty. 

And scattered gleams of yellow light inviting 

All who saw. 

There were but these two scenes. 
The sire with his sons stood on the verge 
Of each, and the two boys hung, as it were, 
Between the two. The aged man pointed 
With upraised arm towards those lofty rocks, 
As if the emblem of all noble thought. 
The other lowered on the fairer scene. 
As if the death of innocence and peace. 
The youth, attentive, raised his eager eye. 
And looked to heaven, while the careless boy 
Tasted, unthinking, the fair fruit, and now 
Draws back, seeing his sire's agonizing 
Look, then plunges forward towards the fields, 
And soon is lost to view. The former, with an 
Upraised lofty look, taking the dark 
And misty path, now girds him for the fight. 
And with wise counsels and good thoughts encouraged, 
Goes his way. And now he's on the road. 
High, noble thoughts are with him, and he seems 
Determined on to brave his way. 

But, ah ! 
Brave youth, wilt thou go onward still, unknowing 



GEORGE POLLEN. 35 

All that lurks beneath thy tread ? The way 

Is steep, but it is up ; the rocks are sharp 

And pierce thy tender feet, but 'tis the pain 

Of self-denying hope. Waters and torrents 

Rush upon thee, 'tis but to cleanse from sin. 

Gay and bright fields are looming in the distance, 

'Tis thy constancy to try. Alas ! 

The way is hard ; alas I the flesh is weak ; 

And canst thou dare it all ? Thou canst, thou darest, 

And onward go, triumphing o'er thy foes. 

Though bitter be the cup, still it's the only 

One that is a remedy for thee. And 

Thou, O foolish youth ! that hast the bright 

And easy path pursued, where art thou now ? 

I see thee mingling in the giddy dance, 

And lost to all save present sense, the death 

Of future joy. I see thee madly clasp 

The cup whose ruddy stream but maddens more. 

O wretched one ! gulfed in such base delight, 

What seest thou ? In the dark distance floats 

Satiety, for thou wilt be its victim. 

Who sits enthroned within that lofty dome ? 

A King in purple, with a golden crown. 

Who sits enthroned within thy breast, O King, 

That now, thy crown and purple laid aside, 

In agony thou writhest ? They're twins 

Who rule thee thus, called sin and discontent. 

Who is this humble pilgrim now draws near. 

With nought upon his brow save grimy sweat, 

Produced by toil, yet through it shines content 



36 WRITINGS OF 

And peace of mind, jewels of truest water ? 
His toilsome pilgrimage draws near its end. 
For many a long and weary day he toiled, 
Striving to reach the goal of future peace ; 
And now, humble in station though he be, 
He's found true peace with true humility. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



37 



MR. PADCORN'S FIRST PARTY. 



SCENE FIRST. 



JLhe third story front room of a Fifth avenue 
palace; Padcorn, surrounded by stiff young men, all 
shirt-collars and hair, putting on white gloves, and 
staring at every new comer who entered the room. 
Padcorn follows their example, and, to his astonish- 
ment, notices that human beings, who enter looking 
like clam-boys, are transformed in about two minutes 
into elegant men of stiff leisure, in beautiful boots 
and white gloves, smiling and beneficent. He goes 
down-stairs in a sort of dream, enters the parlor, and, 
immediately stunned by the confused chattering on 
all sides, his remaining senses take flight ; finds him- 
self mechanically following others' lead, and wading 
through a combination of hemispheres, out of the 
top of which arise the forms of women from the 
waist upwards. Had heard before of mermaids— 



38 WRITINGS OF 

half woman, lialf fish — but never of hemisplieri(;al 
females. At length, brought to a full stop by a 
gentleman, whose lead he follows, stopping and say- 
ing a few words to a hemisphere- worn an, he passes 
on, and Padcorn, in his turn, finds himself in front 
of the portentous object, mechanically utters a few 
words, but not being heard, attempts to get within 
speaking distance ; but repelled by the hemisphere, 
and which he now discovers is bound around with a 
series of hard ridges, as his shins abundantly testify 
on subsequent examinations, being unable to speak 
to the lady, is obliged to content himself with making 
telegraphic signals, and nodding his head gravely and 
mysteriously. Then passing on, he finds himself adrift 
in a sea of hemispheres, and experiences constant and 
indefinable longings to go up-stairs — indulges in pain- 
ful retrospection, and goes through a mental catechism. 

Query. — Padcorn ! what are you doing here ? 

Padcorn. — Standing on my pins, and looking 
around. 

Query.— Why did you come here ? 

Padcorn. — I don't know, I'm sure. I received 
a card, on which was printed, in beautiful italics, 
" Mrs, Shaw, At Home ; " and beneath, in Roman 
letters, " Wednesday night, January 13th, 1856." 
Why Mrs. Shaw should have taken the trouble to 
have this important information, that she was " at 
home on Wednesday, January 13th, 1856," printed 
on a card, and then sent to me, was a mystery. I 



GEORGE POLLEN. 39. 

thought it exceedingly kind of her to let me know this 
fact, but nevertheless couldn't explain it, until a friend 
fortunately solved it for me in the following expressive 
words : " Why, you stupid fellow, you're invited to a 
party, and must go." And so here 1 am {pinching 
himself) ; at least, I believe I'm here. 

Query. — Well, w^hat are you goiug to do ? 

Padcorn. — I don't know — stand and look on, I 
suppose, and wish I was home. 

Query. — But why don't you do as the rest do — 
talk? 

Padcorn. — Come, now, that's all nonsense. In the 
first place, nobody can hear me in such a noise ; and, 
in the second place, I've got nobody to talk to. 

(Just then the soliloquy was interrupted by a man 
with a white ribbon on his coat, who came up, and 
said, " Oh, Mr.-er-er — what did you say your name 
was ? ") 

Padcorn. — I didn't say an}^ thing ; but my name, 
sir, is Padcorn, and Pd like to know what the d — 1 
you mean by asking such a question ? 

White Ribbon. — I beg your pardon, sir ; don't say 
d— 1 so loud ; but allow me to introduce you to some 
of the young ladies. 

Padcorn {mollified). — Oh, my dear sir, I beg your 
pardon ! Certainly, sir — should be most happy. 

White Ribbon. — Miss Pork, allow me — Mr. Pad- 
corn. {All three how, and man in white ribbon 
disappears.) 



40 WRITINGS OF 

Miss Pokk. — Have you been very gay this winter ? 

Padcorn. — No, I can't say I have. I don't think 
I ever was very gay ; I've never seen any thing yet 
to be gay about. {Undertone^ — I wonder what she 
means ! 

Miss Pork {fiirting her fan about). — Oh, you 
strange creature you ! ( Undertone.) — I wonder what 
he means ! 

Padcorn. — Yes, I suppose I am, and this is a 
strange place for me. In fact, I never was at a party 
before to-night — {undertone) — and I'll never be again. 
I wonder what makes her fiddle about so — I wish she'd 
keep still ! 

Miss Pork. — He ! he ! he ! What ! do you mean 
to say you've never been to a party before — but you 
dance, I suppose ? 

Padcorn {indignant at her hilarity). — No, I do 
not ; I never took a dancing-lesson in my life. 

Miss Pork {losing her hreath). — Oh — what — never 
— danced — oh — I shall faint ! 

Padcorn {alarmed). — What shall I do? Where 
shall I go ? You want air. Oh, please don't faint. 
You can't lie down, you know, in these hemispheres. 

Miss Pork. — Oh, no, it's nothing ; but you terrified 
me. Don't you polk, really ? 

Padcorn [undertone). — " Poke ! " I wonder what 
tlie d — 1 she means ! {Aloud.) — Poke ! no, I never 
poke. 

Miss Pork. — What ! you have never known the 
delights of the polka ? 



GEORGE POLLEN. 41 

Padcorn {undertone). — " The delights of the 
poker ! " She's mad — mad as a March hare. 
{Aloud.) — No ; my servant has charge of that de- 
partment, and it never struck me that he was very 
much dehghted about it. 

Miss Pork {not hearing him^ hut apparently 
dbsorhed in pleasant dreams — rrourmuring). — Oh, the 
dear polka ! the delightful polka ! the charming 
polka ! {The music strikes up.) Oh, there's to be 
a dance. What is it ? Listen ! — a quadrille ! Well, 
you can dance that ; you have only to do as the others 
do. Come ; we must get a vis-d-vis. 

Padcorn (terriUy frightened). — But I assure you, 
Miss, I never danced in my life. 

Miss Pork. — Yes ; but this is a quadrille — you 
only walk in this, and do as the others do. 



SCENE SECOND. 

[A quadrille ; dancers in their places ; Padcorn 
and Miss Pork together ; Padcorn sees a colunm 
advancing towards him ; Welshes to beat a rapid 
retreat, but Miss Pork seizes his hand, and both 
advance towards the column. He goes through a 
series of evolutions, and at length iinds himself, in 
a dreadful perspiration, back in his former position. 
At " the right hand across," Padcorn advances to 
meet the coming gentleman, v/ho holds out his hand, 



42 WRITINGS OF 

which Padcorii cordially shakes, and next finds the 
oj3posite lady's left hand extended, which he also 
shakes very cordially, and finally tells Miss Pork that 
^' they ought to call that a shake-hand all round." 
The quadrille breaks up, and Padcorn is delighted 
with himself and Miss Pork. And now the polka 
commences. Padcorn and Miss Pork look on. To 
his virtuous astonishment and indignation, he sees a 
man, in the garb of a gentleman, before all the guests, 
deliberately put his arm around a lady's waist, who, 
so far from resenting it, lovingly places one of her 
own hands on his shoulder, while with the other she 
clasps the gentleman's left hand, and then both whirl 
around the room together. Before he can give vent 
to his feelings, several others follow suit, until, finding 
it universal, Padcorn himself becomes infected with 
the bad example, and places his arm (as he had seen 
the others do) around Miss Pork's waist, wdio indig- 
nantly repels him, and says, " Why, Mr. Padcorn, 
what do you mean, sir ? "] 

Padcorn. — I was only doing as you said a little 
while ago — " Do as the others do." 

Miss Pork. — Yes, sir ; but this is very improper 
conduct. The}/ are dancing, and we are not. 

Padcorn. — But if I knew how to dance, would you 
go out with me in the middle of the room, and let me 
put my arm around your waist ? 

Miss Pork {delighted). — Oh, yes ! you do, then, 
really dance ! How charming ! Let us go instantly. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 43 

Padcokn {severely). — Miss Pork, I do not dance. 
But do you mean to tell me that to put my arm 
around your waist here, where but very few people 
would see us, is more improper than to do so out 
there, w^here the whole world is the spectator, and 
there make teetotums of ourselves till we both seem 
but one object whirling around through space ? 

(Here an apparent combination of hair and neck- 
ties interrupted the conversation, by asking Miss Pork 
if he can have the pleasure of polking with her ; who 
drops a curtsey to Mr. Padcorn, and is next seen 
whirling around in answer to the last question.) 

(Padcorn, much recruited by supper, feels ready 
for any thing; cordially accosts an old friend whom 
he sees standing absorbed in deep thought, but 
receives, to his astonishment, a very cold and con- 
strained reply, and the next moment linds himself 
alone in the centre of the room, having been dis- 
gracefully " cut " by his old friend. Forgives him 
afterwards, however, on seeing him engaged in what 
he finds, on inquiry, to be the " German cotillon." 
The party finally breaks up, and Padcorn, in some 
unaccountable way, reaches home. Wakes up in the 
morning with a dreadful headache, and firmly resolves 
that his first party shall also be his last.) 



44 WRITINGS OF 



MR. PADCORN'S PARTY-CALL. 



SCENE FIRST. 



J\j_R. Padcorn "laying off" in a big arm-chair, 
as easy as possible, utterly regardless of the Graces. 
He is in dressing-gown and slippers, and is smoking, 
and reading Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy." A 
cheerful fire is blazing in the grate ; a luxurious 
warmth pervades the room, which is hung with 
pictures, and filled with books scattered about in all 
directions. Padcorn lowers his book, and, conscious 
of comfortable feelings, reflects with complacency on 
the contrast between his " at home " and Mrs. Shaw's 
idea of the same, and no longer wonders at hers having 
been announced in italics. Is aroused from his reverie 
by a knock at the door. 

Padcorn {in the full^ rich tone of luxurious com- 
fort). — Come in ! 

(Enter Mr. Tidd, one of his new^ acquaintances made 



GEORGE POLLEN. 45 

at the late party, and who is " got up " as regardless 
of expense, and as subservient to the Graces, as Pad- 
corn is directly the opposite.) 

TiDD. — Well, Pad, my boy, how are you ? Taking 
it easy, eh ! That's right. Tidd, take a chair. Thank 
you ! {At the same time gliding into one toit/i negligent 
grace.) 

Padcorn {one third astonished, one third indignant, 
and remaining one third amused at his assurance). — 
Will you have a cigar, Mr. Tidd ? 

Tidd. —I ! Oh, no ; I haven't got my smoking-coat 
on. I have a complete smoking-suit, and never smoke 
except when dressed for the occasion. What've you 
got there ? Burton's " Anatomy." Studying medi- 
cine, my dear boy ? Fine study, that, of human form ; 
but can't stop to talk about it. By-the-by, when are 
you going to make that party-call ? 

Padcorn {very much mixed). — Party ! What 
party ? Make them call ? — what for ? — ^how ? — when ? 
What are you talking about ? 

Tidd. — Why, that party, you know {yawns) — you 
know what I mean ; that party — what's her name ? 

Padcorn. — That party Watsernaim ! I don't know 
any. such party. 

Tidd. — Yes, yes ; where we went the other night. 
I can't remember her name, d — n it ! {Padcorn looks 
at him hewildered.) Haven't you got any memory 
either ? Pshaw, what is her name ? Hallo ! that's 
it — Shaw ! that's the name. {Heaves a long hreath 
of relief.) 



46 WRITINGS OF 

Padcorn {connecting the name of /Shaw with 
''party^^^ begins to have a lucid interval). — Yes, 
Mrs. Shaw gave a party. {Light continuing to 
hreaJc ifi.) Why, you don't mean to say that I'm 
to make that party call on me ? 

TiDD (m tu7m bewildered). — How do you mean, 
" call on you ? " — How tlie d — 1 can yoa make a 
" party- call " on you ? — Oh, I begin to see ! you're 
joking, old fellow. Ha ! ha ! very good ! 

Padcorn. — But I tell you I'm not joking. I don't 
know what you're talking about. 

TiDD.—- You went to Mrs. Shaw's party ? 

Padcorn. — Yes ! 

TiDD.— -Well, you know, of course, that it's cus- 
tomary, when one goes to a party, to make a call on 
tliose who gave it, about a week or so afterwards, and 
make what's called a " party-call." 

Padcorn.— No, I don't. {Aghast.) — Why, you 
don't mean to say that I've got to go there again ? 

TiDD. — To be sure I do. There are some who 
never make " party-calls," but you see they're outre / 
they're trying to set the fashion of being impolite ; 
but ^' our set " won't allow of that, and we've got to 
wait till we get a peg higher in the social system 
before we can come that game. 

Padcorn. — And so we must be comme il faut. 

TiDD. — Just so ; but come, now, get ready and go 
with me to-night. 

Padcorn {with returning sensation of horror). — 
What 1 to-night ? Oh, no ; I must think abont it. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



47 



TiDD. — Why, how long do you want ? 

Padcorn. — Oh, about a week ! 

TiDD. — J^onsense, my boy ! Go and dress yourself 
— there's a good fellow ! — and we'll go together this 
evening. You might as well do it at once, and there'll 
be an end of it. (Padcorn is finally persuaded, and 
disappears into his bedroom. Tidd makes himself 
comfortable in the arm-chair, says " Queer boy, that ! " 
yawns, and at length falls asleep. At the end of an 
hour Padcorn reappears, and wakes up Tidd, who is 
astonished at seeing him muffled up in a shawl and in 
a cap.) Why, my boy, what a rig ! One would think 
that you were going to a party. 

Padcoen. — "Well, it's a party-call, you know, and 
I thought I ought to do as the rest do, and make a 
clam-boy out of myself. 

Tidd. — Well, it's night, and nobody '11 see you ; 
besides, you'll take them oft' when you get there. 



SCENE SECOND. 

(Tingle-ling-a-ling. Door opens, and Padcorn 
rushes up-stairs ; Tidd, astonished, sends waiter up 
for him, and Padcorn soon returns again.) 

Tidd. — Why, what are you about? You'll be 
kicked out, if you don't mind. What did you go up- 
stairs for ? One would have thought there were forty- 
seven devils after you. 



48 WRITINGS OF 

Padcoex. — What should 1 go up for, but to the 
dressing-room, of course ? 

TiDD. — Why, man, this isn't a party ! Di-essing- 
room ? Here, take off your shawl and cap. {Pad 
u7ifolds.) Heavens and earth ! wliy, you're in white 
cravat and full-dress ! 

Padcorn. — Of course 1 am. If there is so much 
ceremony at an '' at home," what must there be at a 
party -call ? 

TiDD. — Well, it's too late now ; tell them you're 
going to a party — quick ! the waiter's beginning to 
look as if he thought we were both mad. {Turns to 
waiter.) — ^Tell the ladies, "Mr. Padcorn and Mr. 
Tidd." 

(Shortly after, enter Miss Shaw and Miss Eliza 
Shaw — bows and curtseys. Tidd, with wonderful 
self-possession, immediately commences lively and 
agreeable conversation. Padcorn, in a state of semi- 
stupefaction, alternated by faint gleams of intelligence, 
ultimately finds himself seated, how or when he can't 
remember.) 

Miss Shaw. — I hope you enjoyed yourself the 
other evening, Mr. Padcorn. 

Padcorn. — Oh, very much, I assure you ! ( Under- 
tone.) — What a dreadful lie ! 

Miss Shaw {noticing his full-dress). — You are very 
gay tbis winter, I suppose. 

Padcorn {undertone). ^lL\iQYQ it is—" gay " again. 
{Aloud, and attempting Mr. Tidd's enviable vivacity, 



GEORGE POLLEN. 49 

which he has heen quietly noticing^ — Oh, yes ; ex- 
tremely so — constantly on the go. 

Miss Shaw. — Who gives a party to-night ? 

Padcorn. — Oh, Miss-er-er-er. Dear me, I have 
such a poor memory for names — out so constantly, I 
declare I never can remember names. Miss-er-er — oh, 
Boggs ! ( Undertone^ — Lie No. 2. I wonder if she 
knows Boggs % 

Miss Shaw. — Why, I thought Miss Boggs was in 
mourning. 

Padcorn. — Oh, not that Miss Boggs ; the other 
one. Are you fond of reading ? 

Miss Shaw. — Oh, distractedly ! Have you read 
" Helen Leeson ? " 

Padcorn. — Yes, Pve looked it over. {Undertone.) 
— Never read it. 

Miss Shaw — Delightful, charming book, is it not ? 

Padcorn. — Oh, yes — exquisite ! ( Undertone.) — 
Great Heavens, what am I coming to ! 

Miss Shaw. — Did you notice that over-dressed 
Miss Slogget the other evening — sucli shockingly 
bad taste ! (Then follows such a list of other vitu- 
perations, against others of tlie fair sex, that Pad is 
completely overwhelmed, and is only aroused from 
the stupid astonishment into which he had fallen 
by Mr. Tidd's rising and bidding the ladies " good 
evening." Padcorn only too readily follows his ex- 
ample.) 

7 



50 WRITINGS OF 

TiDD. — What a cliarming girl that Miss Eliza is ? — 
so much spirit and wit, such vivacity ! 

Padcoen. — I can't say the same for Miss Shaw. 
Such vituperation I never heard in all my life be- 
fore. 

TiDD. — Why, what do you mean by vituperation ? 

Padcorn. — Making ill-natured remarks about oth- 
ers, picking them to pieces, noting every flaw, real or 
imagined, in their composition, and pointing it out to 
you. 

TiDD. — Ah, Pad, you're a queer boy. Why, that's 
the creme of conversation ; that's where Miss Eliza 
excels — so witty, so sarcastic ! Oh, she is angelic ! 

Padcorn. — And do you mean to say that is the 
staple of conversation at " party-calls ? " 

TiDD. — ^To be sure. What else is there to talk 
about? You wouldn't have them sit like sticks, 
speaking of nothing but the weather, and then sink- 
ing into stupidity ? 

Padcorn {severely indignant). — No ; but I would 
have them cultivate their minds — study to become 
good wives and good mothers — foster refinement of 
feeling ; and if they must speak of others, instead of 
depreciating them as much as is in their power, to 
dwell rather on their good qualities. 

TroD. — Come, now. Pad, you're getting too deep 
for me ; so, good night ! 

Padcorn. — Well, good night ; and may Heaven 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



51 



preserve me for the future from two of the sins of 
civilized society — parties and party-calls. To think 
of luarryuig one of the Misses Shaw ! {Padcorn 
disapj>ears in shudders.) 



52 WRITINGS OF 



A LADY'S HAT. 



w. 



ALKER says, " A hat is a cover for the head ; " 
as if a man had a lid like a saucepan or a teapot. 
The fact is, the definition is not a good one, and gives 
no idea whatever of a hat. The human hair is a cover 
for the head ; but no one would venture to say that 
the human hair is a hat, at least in literal language ; 
metaphorically it may be, but Walker is confined to 
the province of literal definitions ; and though a hat 
is " a cover for the head," still the definition does 
not cover the whole ground. With equal reason it 
might apply to the bandbox which contained the hat ; 
for what is there in the definition to prevent me from 
clapping the bandbox on my head, exthiguishing all 
my perceptive faculties, and then gurgling forth m 
smothered accents to an astonished crowd, that I had 
my hat on ? — ^yet, would that crowd be convinced it 
was a hat ? The authority of Walker would un- 
doubtedly sink in the estimation of any enlightened 
public to whom such an appeal should be made. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 53, 

What, then, is a hat ? WJiat, but — an artificial 
cover intended expressly for tlie human head ; and 
though organ-grinders do sometimes put hats on 
monkeys' heads, such use of them is but the excep- 
tion, and an utter distortion of the original purpose 
for which hats were intended. As for its gender, the 
male hat is one of the most unnatural works of man, 
constructed m the shape of a stove-pipe ; and he who 
invented it deserves to have it knocked over his eyes, 
and have his daguerreotype, with all the modern im- 
provements, taken, and then exhibited in the Broad- 
way show-cases. What greater punishment can be 
inflicted on man than to expose him to the gaze of 
the world, as he looks in daguerreotype, in phototype, 
in ambrotype, and in lamprotype ? 

But the female hat is eminently a work of art, 
while the gaudy structure which adorns the lady's 
head is more than a hat ; the animal, vegetable, and 
paineral kingdoms all contribute to its construction ; 
while even human imagination is taxed to invent new 
forms for it, and Taste and Fancy are enlisted in the 
arrangement of its various decorations. 

The framework of the lady's hat is most com- 
monly of wire, furnished by the mineral kingdom. 
The stomach of the silk worm produces the usual 
material which covers this framework, and is also the 
origin of the ribbons that go to decorate it. The flax- 
plant supplies the lace, as well as the linen out of 
which are stamped the flowers that adorn it. The 



54 WRITINGS OF 

bird of Paradise, that fatrious bird, OTi(;e fabled to 
have derived its only nonrishraent from the dew and 
the nectar and odor of flowers, which dwelt constantly 
in the air, " wafted about in the bright beams of the 
sun, independent of the ordinary mechanism C)f wings," 
even that wonderful bird adds its tail to the general 
contribution ; while the ostri('h, largest of birds, sends 
those curious productions of the winged tribe, called 
feathers, " every one of which," according to Paley, 
" is a mechanical wonder." 

A lady's hat ! What scenes does it not conjure 
up before the astonished gaze ! As one regards it, 
he sees in imagination the tail of the bird of Paradise, 
once more appended to its original possessor, and flut- 
tering in the soft an* of the Moluccas ; he sees the 
ostrich feathers restored to their legitimate owmer, 
and scouring over the sandy deserts of Africa ; he 
sees the silk-worm rolling itself np in the cocoon 
w^hich it weaves from its own stomach, wdiile the 
cotton-plant and the flax-plant are germinating under 
the warm rays of the sun, all unconscious of the 
glorious destiny that awaits them — of adorning the 
head of a woman. Oh, woman, woman ! not satis- 
fled with your own native (Ijharms, you must levy 
contributions on the mineral, vegetable, and animal 
kingdoms, to feed your msatiate vanity ! 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



55 



A WAILING AT SEA. 

_Lt was a night as black as pitch, 

No star shone in the cloudy sky ; 
The human race, both poor and rich, 

Of going out felt awful shy. 

The troubled sea tossed, to and fro. 

The ship with mariners therein ; 
The men in row-boats hard did row. 

Until they broke every thole-pin. 

And then they lay upon their oars. 
And looked around both far and near. 

While sweat poured forth from each one's pores. 
And all did shake with trembling fear. 

For now a whale of monstrous size 
Hove, with his water-spouts, in view, 

And as they watched him with their eyes, 
These men the cud of tljoui^ht did chew. 



56 WRITINGS OF 

" Whence comes this monster big and grim ? 
What does he here this stormy night ? 
He might have known we don't want him ; 
We're not a-waitiug for a bite." 

No answer then the monster gave, 
But boimced along with all his speed, 

Engulfed them in his bulky cave, 

Like some cart-horse who bolts his feed. 



There, in that gloomy, drear abode, 
These men their roomy lodgings took, 

While on the whale went with his load, 
Down aqueous hills to find a cook. 

The whale went on, the men did too ; 

He pompously began to spout, 
Annoying much the sucked-in crew, 

Who wanted greatly to get out. 

But no ! the door was closed on all 
Who ever entered in that place ; 

The whale's skin was their funeral pall, 
His bones became their coffin-case. 

For ten long days these men had spent 
In darkest gloom, a dreary night. 

And yet had found no place of vent. 
But every place was water-tight. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 57 

At length despair sat on their brows ; 

They swore, and tore their matted hair, 
And kicked up awfully big rows, 

But Whaley didn't seem to care. 

One night, a man rampaging round 

Fell down into an unseen hole. 
And as he fell, a splashing sound 

Brought life unto his gloomy soul. 

His feet felt wet, his trowsers damp ; 

He seemed to be a-going down ; 
First went his knees, and then his thighs. 

And these were followed by his crown. 

Afloat upon the briny wave, 

For many an hour he swam aboat. 
Until a friendly ship, to save 

Him, sailed near by, and picked him out. 

He lived not long, but soon did die ; 

He lived to tell his horrid tale ; 
That done, he heaved a long-drawn sigh. 

And then fell dead — 'twas his last wail. 



The above frightful legend of the sea is an " owre 
true tale." It is no fish-story merely, though it may 
be said to have an affinity to the finny tribe. It may 

8 



58 WRITINGS OF 

be called cetaceous, and indeed mendacious also, the 
latter word being derived (as it is) from " men," 
human male beings, and " dacious," from dace, a iish ; 
or it might be called au-dacious, as it inspires (consid- 
erable awe. Perhaps, on the whole, you'd better call 
it an audaciously mendacious cetaceous story, and then 
you'll be sure to get it right. The tale itself — not the 
whale's, but the tale of the whale — is undoubtedly 
true, " owre true," for it must be allowed by every 
one that like begets like, and whales produce wails. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 59 



SCENE IN A COURT-KOOM, 

Where examinations for admission to the har are 
going on: 

JDJxaminee. — " Mr. , what is Law? " 

Startled Student {striving to collect scattered fac- 
ulties). — " Law ? Law, sir, is — {undertone) — I won- 
der what the devil law is ! Law is — did you ask, sir, 
what law is ? " 

Examiner {getting crusty). — " Yes, sir." 
Startled Student {getting wild). — '^ Law, sir, is — 
is — is — it's a rule, sir, of civil conduct, prescribed by 
municipal regulations." 
Examiner.—" What ? " 

Startled Student {in agony, and becoming des- 
perate). — " A rule, sir — oh ! I'm sure I don't know 
what it is." 

Examiner {solemnly). — " What are treaties ? " 
Startled Student. — " A treatise, sir, is a book — 



6o WRITINGS OF 



it's judicial reports — I mean reports of judicial de- 
cisions, collected together, and forming what is called 
unwritten, or common law." 

Examiner.— "J. what f " 

Startled Student. — " A book, sir ! A book, sir, 
is a collection of leaves of printed paper, sewed to- 
gether, and, when pasted to a thick cover, it is called 
' bound,' and when it has only a paper cover, it is 
denominated a pamphlet, sir." 

Examiner. — " Do you intend to say, sir, that 
treaties are books ? " 

Startled Student. — " Treatises — you mean treat- 
ises, sir ; yes, sir, treatises are books — {a light dawns 
on hewildered mind) — oh ! you mean treaty — treaty 
spelt with a ' y^ not with ' ise? Oh ! yes, sir, a 
treaty^s a different affair. A treaty, sir, refers to the 
law of nations ; or rather, sir, it's got something to do 
with the law of nations and war ; that is to say, when 
the law of nations is at war, then the treaty don't come 
in ; but when there's peace, treaties generally ensue." 

Examiner (sternly). — " What is a summons, sir ? " 

Startled Student {feeling hopeful). — " Oh ! yes, 
sir ; a summons is subscribed by the plaintiff and 
directed to the defendant, and requiring an answer 
thereof within twenty days, or else to be barred 
thereby, and liable on said contingency to have 
judgment entered up against hini." 

Examiner. — '' What is a complaint 'I " 

Startled Studiont {;more encouraged). — " A com- 



GEORGE POLLEN. 6 1 

plaint, sir, is a statement of facts ; the name of the 
court is put at the top of the page and a line drawn 
under it ; and then you write the name of the coun- 
ty, and then draw a line again ; and then there are 
two or more names, frequently more, generally put 
with a flourish on one side and two letters, ' 'y^.,' 
between them ; but I never knew what ' vs.^ meant. 
I suppose, however, it's a mere form, and is probably 
used in the case of a formal complaint." 

Examiner. — " How, sir, would you commence an 
action in a court of law ? " 

Student {radiant). — "Oh! sir, I would first serve 
a summons on the sheriff, by leaving a copy wdth him, 
and making an affidavit that he was the individual 
known and described therein, and that I knew the 
same to be the same, and requiring him to hold and 
execute the same by demanding a delivery of the pi-op- 
erty ; and in case it was shut up in an enclosure, if 
there wasn't any person inside, or the property wasn't 
delivered up forthwith, then straightway to demolish 
said enclosure, and seize the same, and allow him the 
privilege of calling in the ''posse coimitatus^ although 
those words alw^ays ^ knocked me,' and 1 don't know 
to this day w^hat they mean ! " 

Examiner.—" That'll do, sir ! " 



6i WRITINGS OF 



RECIPE 
FOR MAKING LAW COMMENTARIES. 

{Lately discovered among the papers of a defunct 
lawyer who flourished towo/rds the latter part of 
the eighteenth century^ 

X behoovetli y^ person y* intendeth to compose 
Commentaries, or Elucidations of y® lawe, for y® in- 
struction and edification of y® youtlie studieing y® 
lawe, to make y® saide Commentaries as involved in 
y® darkness of ambiguitie as is possible for y® mind 
of y® saide composer to effect. 

Y® Commentator shulde first state y® heade of y® 
subject in plaine terms, so as thereby to lead y® unso- 
phisticated student to y^ flattering and beguiling hope 
that y*^ heade will straightway be explained and eluci- 
dated, and then underneath e y® said heade to so 
arrange and classifie his wordes that they may sliowe 



GEORGE POLLEN. 63 

some slighte reference to y® lieade, in order y* y^ 
student may not thinke y® Commentator ntterlie 
lieth. Thus much being done, there alone remaineth 
for y® Commentator to cram in, under each heade, 
sufficient of matter as in y® end to cover a sufficient 
quantitie of paper to make a worke of four or more 
volumes of gigantic size. 

This will have y® double effect of giving unto y^ 
student a proper and sufficient idea of y® magnitude 
and importance of y® lawe, and at y® same time fill y® 
pockets of y^ Commentator, and place him at y^ top 
of his profession, and among y® wealthie men of y^ 
place. 



64 WRITINGS OF 



NEW READIJSTGS. 



NUMBER I. 



o, 



H, young Lochinvar has come out of the West, 
With a row of brass buttons sewed on his vest, 
And, save a big stick, he weapon had none — 
With naught in his pocket but one penny bun ; 
So faithful in love, but a stomach so sore. 
There ne'er was a lover like young Lochinvar. 

• 
He stayed not for breakfast, he stopped not for stone, 
But he ran all the way, barefooted, alone ; 
Yet, ere he climbed over his girl's father's gate. 
His girl was another's, and he was too late ; 
For a bumpkin in love and a booby at core. 
Was to carry off Sally from young Lochinvar. 

Having climbed o'er the gate, he went up to the door. 
Where stood his girl's father, and two dozen more ; 



GEORGE POLLEN. 65 

He tapped the old man on his bent shoulder-blade, 
And said, " To your Sally, love, long since I made." 
Her father turned round : " Don't come here any more, 
Or m darken your daylight, you young Lochinvai' ! " 



" I long wooed your Sally, my suit you denied ; 
This suit's also tattered, and I've but one beside ; 
And so I just came once more to drink tea 
With Sally, my darling, and have one more spree ; 
For I know other girls, more faithful by far, 
Who would like to get married to me, Lochinvar." 

They had a gay dance, and they had quite a " spree ; " 

They ate johnny-cakes, and then they drank tea ; 

The bridegroom was eating, and all were quite merry, 

When Sally threw at him a great big blackberry ; 

It squashed in his eye, he saw a large star. 

And Sal made for the wood-house with young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting of chairs 'mong the Joneses and 

Browns ; 
There was lighting, and scuffling, and tumbling-downs, 
Tommy Smith and Jim Foster rushed out m the yard, 
They ran very fast, and they ran very hard ; 
They got out of breath, but though they ran far, 
They never caught up to the young Lochinvar. 
9 



66 WRITINGS OF 

NUMBER II. 

J3-S I sat, one midnight dreary, 
Quite knocked up and deuced weary. 
Thinking of my Sal, the daughter 
Of the butcher, now no more ; 
As I, sitting, pondered, thinking, 
Wishing that I'd left off drinking. 
For T now quite fast was sinking. 

Sinking down upon the floor, 
" 'Tis the drink," I slowly muttered, 
" Makes me sink down to the floor- 
That it is, and nothing more." 

Ah, my Sally, I remember 
How, a-raining in November, 
We went out with no umbrella. 

While the rain on us did pour. 
When your pap, he came a-running. 
Hit my head a blow quite stunning. 
While you said, " He's only funning," 

Funning, when a great big sore 
Rose upon my bunged-up forehead, 

While with pain I loud did roar — 

That I did, and nothing more. 

Then I went home, feeling madly, 
While you soothed me, looking sadly, 
Still I did leel very badly, 



GEORGE POLLEN. 67 

At the bloody sight of gore ; 
Then I swore that on the morrow 
Your old pap should feel some sorrow 
For arousmg up my choler ; 

Collar^ too, he fiercely tore, 
From its top down to its bottom, 

While with pain I loud did roar — 

That I did, and nothing more. 

Now he's gone, and you're a-going. 
As the cock is feebly crowing. 
To the milliner's for sewing, 

Which I'd think must be a bore ; 
Yet, you sew perpetually. 
You, my sweet and darling Sally, 
While I, in some neighb'ring alley 

Am a-swilling brandy raw. 
Till I find my senses giddy, 

And I fall upon the floor — 

That I do, and nothing more. 



NUMBER m. 

X HE rat stood on the bm'ning dock, 
While 'round him fell the dead ; 

The billowy waves did fiercely rock, 
And spattered o'er his head. 



68 WRITINGS OF 

Yet, bright and beautiful he stood, 

Alive, with hairy skin. 
But couldn't run off, if he would, 

Because he was pent in. 

He squeaked aloud, " Que-que ! que-que ! " 

He squeaked aloud in vain ; 
The flames, they were upon his lea, 

Upon his right the main. 

Upon his brow he felt the heat, 

His tail was crimping up ; 
His little heart with fear did beat, 

His breath was but hiccough. 

He squeaked aloud — once more he squeaked ; 

He lifted high his head, 
And loudly once again he shrieked, 

And then, he fell down dead. 

Then came a rattling, crashing sound ; 

The rat — oh, where was he ? 
Ask of the waves, that far around 

Had borne him out to sea. 

The boards are floating far and near, 

The fire has done its part. 
But Ratty we'll no more see here, 

With his little beating heart. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 69 

NUMBER IV. 

V_/NCE more you're in your breeches, friends, once more, 

And closed the rents that in their seats were made. 

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 

As that his breeches should be whole and clean ; 

But, when you hear the rousing blast of war, 

Reck not, my men, for breeches that are tore, 

But be the tiger, clad in Nature's clothes. 

And rush upon the foe, and smash — ^his nose. 

Tight clench your fists, as with raging might 

You would djire any to the bloody fight ; 

Fix hard your eye upon his weakest point, 

Let now your arm run easy on its joint ; 

Set firm your teeth, and pufi* your nostril out, 

Spend not your breath upon a weakly shout. 

But bend your every spirit till it cracks again. 

Curb not your passions, give them free the rein. 

Now with your body leaning towards the foe, 

Give him, with all your might, a blow " as is " a blow ; 

First in the eye, the port-hole of his sight. 

Which being stopped, then hit him left and right ; 

Crack him again until he's on the ground. 

Then jump upon him like a bloody hound, 

And then, transformed into a wormy leech. 

Bite at his ear, and make him raise a screech. 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 

The wish to fight is slobbering o'er your lips ; 

Take first a drink, and when I sing out " One ! " 

Go it, my hearties, every mother's son. 



70 WRITINGS OF 

NUMBER V. 

JL WAS the midnight watch of a summer's night, 
I took up a match and struck a light ; 
The stars shone bright in the starry sky, 
When I thought I saw a mosquito near by. 
The culprit came flying and buzzing along, 
And singing his bloody vampire song ; 
And as he 'lighted upon my nose, 
I felt the nails of his pointed toes, 
And I thought to myself. Thou elfin-bug, 
I've a mind to damage your noisy pug ; 
But he whizzed and he buzzed, as much as to say, 
" Oh, give me one sip more of blood, I pray ! " 
The tears now ran down from my two eyes dim. 
But the flow of the waters affected not him ; 
For he sat on the bridge of my nose secure. 
While I, though impatient, his sting did endure. 
At length he was filled with the bloody spoil. 
That was taken away from my nose's rich soil ; 
He plumed his wings, and prepared to depart. 
But he found it was useless to make a start. 
I seized the wretch by his glittering wing, 
I drew from his mouth the poisonous sting ; 
I then laid him down on his downy back, 
And raised up my slipper to give him a whack — 
When lo ! he broke loose, and soon fled out of view. 
And left me. astonished, still holding my shoe. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 7 1 



J\~ CORRESPONDENT has Sent us " The Song of the 
Clerk," which we regret not being able to publish in 
full ; but the writer should not have chosen the form 
of a parody of a poem so hackneyed as the " Song of 
the Shirt." In other respects he writes with feeling 
and fancy, and certainly has truthfulness on his side 
in his picture of the old clerk. — N. Y. L. W . 



THE SONG OF "THE CLERK." 

Write ! write ! write ! 

From early dawn until night ; 
Write ! write ! write ! 

Till your cheeks are sunken and white ; 
The sweat roUeth not off your brow, 

'Tis because the summer's not here, 
But in its stead the writer's cold 

Has brought a nose-dropping tear. 



72 WRITINGS OF 

Write I write ! write ! 

In a coat that is threadbare and old.; 
Write ! write ! write ! 

While your fingers are stifiened with cold ; 
Now lift your eyes from your books, 

Their figures you see in the air, 
For your poor old eyes have seen them so long, 

That they see them every where. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 73 



ME. BOGGS' BAD NIGHT. 

J3lLe. Boggs, a worthy countryman, on his first visit 
to the metropolis, avoids its wicked temptations by 
going early to bed. 

Scene. — (Bedroom of a JSew Yorh hotel.) 

Mk. Boggs, slumbering peacefully in bed, and 
enjoying beautiful visions of all descriptions, is sud- 
denly aroused by a vague sense of inquietude — 
awakens thoroughly to the consciousness that several 
persons are talking and laughing in the next room ; 
turns over restlessly, but to no purpose ; qo sooner 
does he fall into a doze, than he is startled out of it 
by a renowned peal of laughter ; the chattering be- 
comes intolerable ; the laughter only increases ; clock 
strikes " two," A. M. ; Boggs groans ; turns over 
again, but no longer attempts to sleep, for his nerves 
are so shattered by the repeated shocks they have 
10 



74 WRITINGS OF 

received, that, when the laughter now awakens him, 
he experiences vague and indefinable terrors. 

BoGGs {in agony). — Oh, dear, what shall I do ? 
{Gives itj[> to clesjpair.) — Suddenly a thought strikes 
him — there is a blower to his grate ; he springs out 
of bed, seizes the blower, and, approaching the door 
between the two apartments, waits patiently till the 
next peal of laughter, and beats a tattoo on the blower 
with the poker. Ker-r-r-rang tang — kel-1-l-lang — ker- 
r-r-rang tang — kel-lang-clang clang. Boggs himself 
almost starts with terror. {Party m next room sud- 
denly become silent.) 

Voice. — What the d — 1 was that? Didn't jou 
hear something ? 

Voices {murmuring, as if they were all saying 
they should thhik they did). 

Voice No. 1. — It seemed to come from the next 
room. {Rises, and, going to the door, jpeeps through 
the keyhole.) — I can't see any thing, though. (Boggs, 
having hung his cap over the knob of the door, rubs 
his hands with delight at the result of the scheme. 
Suddenly an idea strikes him. Placing himself in 
the light of the moon, which shines brightly into his 
chamber, he holds the blower in front of him, knocks 
the cap off the knob with the poker, and, wheeling 
about so that his back is to the keyhole, stands 
motionless.) 

Voice No. 2. — Are you sure you couldn't see any 



GEORGE POLLEN. 75 

thing? Let me look. {Looks just as Boggs knocks 
off the Gwp). Halloo ! 

Paisty {all crowding around). — What's the matter ? 

Voice No. 2. — Hang it ! Why, there's a fellow 
standing in the moonshine ! 

Party {eagerly pushing forward). — Well, what's 
he doing ? (Just then Boggs makes a pirouette in the 
air, comes down on his toes, and strikes the blower. 
Party all jump with terror.) 

Voice IS'o. 2.— Gad ! Why, he jumped right up 
in the air, and made that d — d noise. 

Voice No. 3. — How the deuce does he make that 
infernal noise ? 

Voice No. 4. — Yes ; and what's he jumping about 
at this time of night for ? 

Host. — I'm sure I don't know ; {whispers) — but 
wait ; I'll settle his bacon. {Goes to a closety and 
produces a 'beoM-hlower and some heans.) 

Voice No. 5 {whispers). — Yes, that's it ; hit him in 
the ham ! 

Party. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! Very good ! 

Boggs {who has meanwhile stood motimiless^ so- 
liloquizes). — I wonder what they're whispering 
about! Well, I'll give them one more, and then 
go to bed. (Pirouettes, but, as he comes down, 
experiences a sudden, sharp shooting pain ; drops the 
blower with a yell, and pops into bed.) My stars ! 
what was that, I wonder ? That must have been tic- 



76 WRITINGS OF 

douloureux. I've probably cauglit cold. Heavens ! 
liow sore that spot is ! {Clock strikes foiiT. Party 
in next room with ill-suppressed glee.) 

Voice. — Well, we've had a jolly night ; but it's 
getting late, so I'm going home. Good night. {One 
hy one they drop off^ and all hecomes quiet.) 

BoGGS {soliloquizes). — Well, thank fortune, they've 
gone at last, even though at this late hour. Jolly 
night ! that's more than I've had. Oh, dear ! oh, 
dear ! (Yawns, and at length falls asleep ; sleeps 
about half an hour, and is again suddenly roused. 
Listens, and hears some one turning the knob of his 
door, and then letting it go, in I'apid succession, while 
at the same time a vigorous pounding on the door 
threatens to break in the panel.) 

EoGGS {exasperated). — Halloo! what are you about? 

Noisy Stranger. — Halloo you ! What are you 
doing in my room ? Let me in ! {Renews knob- 
turning and pounding >j 

BoGGS. — This is not your room. This is No. 85, 
and my room ; and if you don't stop making that 
noise, I'll call the watch ! 

Pacified Stranger {ceasing to knock). — Eighty- 
five ! Oh ! I beg your pardon, sir — a mistake, I 
assure you ; my number is 87. Sorry I disturbed 
you, sir. Good night ! 

BoGGS {soliloquizes). — Well, that's cool ! But I'd 
much prefer that he'd have begged my pardon before 
waking me up, and then not have waked me at all. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 77 

Oh, dear ! I don't know what'll become of me ! Sleep 
is necessary to human existence, 1 believe, but these 
New Yorkers seem to be — a-h — a-h. {Falls asleep.) 

Scene II. — {The next morning at same hotel.) 

YisiTOE. — Is Mr. Boggs in ? 

Landlord. — Mr. Boggs was here last evening, sir ; 
but he left for home this morning, immediately after 
breakfast. 



78 WRITINGS OF 



A DAY IN THE COUNTKY. 

J_F you should pin your faith on the sleeve of a poet, 
you would believe that the country was a Paradise, 
and the city — " a quite the reverse ; " but as " seeing 
is believing," Coggs and myself determined to go to 
the country and see for ourselves ; so one day we took 

the cars for P . About three miles from P is 

the " beautiful " little village of M . We reached 

it towards dusk, having been conveyed there from 

P in a wagon, di*agged by a poor scare-crow of a 

horse, and whose blinders flapped about like shutters 
in a gale of wind. Our driver, who was a black man, 
and who was obliged to stand up, stood on our feet 
the whole distance, while his linen coat-tail kept flying 
in my face until, almost smothered, I was obliged to 
request him, in the most choking pathetic accents, to 
take in a reef in his superfluous drapery. This having 
been done, by tucking them under the waist-band of 
his trowsers, the eflect was, as you may easily imagine, 



GEORGE POLLEN. 79 

any thing but elegant in the extreme, though decidedly 
more comfortable. 

We finally arrived at M , covered with dust 

and cinders ; and requesting a room with two beds 
in it, were informed, with a stare, that they had none, 
but could give us two adjoining single rooms ; so, 
obliged to content ourselves with these, we were 
presently ushered into tw^o cupboards, the only dif- 
ference being that beds had been substituted for 
shelves. It was only by dint of squeezing ourselves 
" into cocked hats " that we could manage to shut 
the doors. Of course, a wash-stand was out of the 
question ; and there being no bell, we were obliged 
to beat the devil's own tattoo to get up the waiter. 
This important functionary having been at length 
exorcised in the shape of a dirty, slip-shod female, we 
were informed that, if we wanted to wash ourselves, 
we could do it " at the pump, down in the garding." 
As there was no other resource for us, " down in the 
garding" we went. I was near bitten in two by a 
ferocious bull-dog ; while Coggs, in attempting to 
flee, tripped over the dog's house, and was stretched 
sprawling on the ground. Aid, having been loudly 
requested, soon after came ; the dog was chained, 
and we were escorted in safety to the pump. Our 
ablutions were performed in a tin pan, with brown 
soap, and which nearly took all the skin off my hands, 
while my handkerchief, an article originally intended 
for wiping my nose merely, was now advanced to the 



So WRITINGS OF 

more extended sphere of wiping both face and hands. 
Tlien took tea — ham and eggs ; and there being neither 
a theatre nor billiard-room in the whole place, we 
dawdled around until nine P. M. ; when, dying with 
enmd, we determined to go to bed. 

Two tallow candles, with wicks like torch-lights, 
and sputtering forth horrible smells, were then pre- 
sented to us, and thus armed, and holding our noses, 
we ascended to our cupboards. My first impulse, on 
finding myself shut up alone with the infernal tallow 
candle, was to go out immediately into the entry, but 
was diverted from that intention by hearing Coggs 
beat on the partition, and then his voice. 

Coggs. — Halloo, there, old fellow ! how do you 
feel? 

M. or N. — Awfully ! How do you ? 

Coggs. — I say, old boy, " misery likes company." 
Don't you think that we could get this partition 
down ? 

It was a lucky thought. The partition was old 
and rickety, and, by a little hard pushing, we man- 
aged to get one of the boards loose, and then the rest 
was easy. There wasn't room to lay the boards down, 
so we stood them up against the wall. 

After comparing our grievances, we finally resolved 
to go to bed and forget them all in sleep. As it was 
my habit always to look under the bed before " turning 
in " for the night, I did so in this instance, w^hen, to 
my horror, I saw a man there. Starting wdth terroi*, 



GEORGE POLLEN. 8 1 

I shouted out to Coggs, who, at the same time, shouted 
out to me, that there was a man under the bed. 

Coggs.— Eh ? 

M. or N.— Eh ? 

Coggs. — Did you look under the bed just now ? 

M. or N.-Yes ! 

And the result was a hearty laugh of relief for both 
parties. It appeared that Coggs had the same habit 
of looking for burglars as myself, and it so happened 
that we had both looked simultaneously ; the two beds 
being side by side, of course we saw one another. Not 
satisfied, however, with this reasonable solution, we 
again made a careful inspection of the premises, with 
confirmed results, and then went to bed. We both 
of us passed a restless night, but towards morning I 
fell into a doze. I don^t think I could have been 
asleep more than ten minutes, when I was awakened 
by hearing Coggs call me. As I awoke, there were 
about forty roosters crowing their very necks ojff. 

Coggs.— What the deuce is that? What is that 
awful noise ? There it is again. 

M. or I^. {yawning, hut finally laughing.) — What, 
that? Why, didn't you ever hear roosters crow? 
Those are roosters. 

Coggs. — To be sure, it does sound something like 

game-cocks in the pit ; but then, what the deuce are 

they doing in the country, and such a crowd of them, 

too ? Just listen. Jupiter, what a noise ! What the 

11 



82 WRITINGS OF 

deuce are they crowing about? They don't figlit that 
way at tins time of night, do they ? 

M. or Is. — (yawning.) — Fight ! no ; why, didn't 
you know roosters announce the dawn ? 

CoGGs. — No, I didn't. So they announce the 
dawn, do they ? 

Roosters. — Cock-a-doodle doo-o-o-o-o ! 

CoGGS. — Come, now, this is too much — waking up 
people at this time of night, merely to let them know 
the dawn's on hand. Let the dawn announce itself. 
I'll cut every one of your throats to-morrow morning, 
if you don't stop. 

The roosters nevertheless continued to crow, and 
Coggs to swear ; while I, laughing and gaping alter- 
nately, turned over and soon fell asleep again. 

We rose about ten, took our wash " in the gard- 
ing," with the brown soap, in the tin pan, and then 
went in to breakfast — ham and eggs again. Coggs 
looked wild, but said nothing. 

Breakfast over, we went out " to enjoy the coun- 
try." Grass ! yes there was grass. Coggs and I were 
both agreed on that point. Grass ! and pltinty of it. 
There were trees, too. " Trees ! " said Coggs. " Trees ! 
Look at the trees ! just think of it ! " Having suffi- 
ciently contemplated the trees, we looked to see what 
else there was. " A cow ! " said Coggs ; " a cow, an 
animal on four legs, with two horns and a tail. What 
is the cow doing ? Standing still, and whisking her 



GEORGE POLLEN. 83 

tail about, and, by George ! she's making faces, too. 
Just look at her mouth ! " 1 was obliged to explain 
to Coggs that the cow was "chewing the cud." Coggs 
thought that a great joke, and evidently treasured it 
up in his memory, for he kept repeating to himself for 
some time, " Chewing the cud ! " We soon, however, 
exhausted the cow, and then were nonplussed ; there 
was nothing more to be seen— until Coggs discovered 
" the sky ! " I mildly suggested that we have sky in 
the city ; but Coggs insisted that he'd never seen it ; 
at any rate, not in such quraitities. But the sky 
proved any thing but exhilarating, for it was full of 
clouds, and, shortly after Coggs' new discovery, the 
rain came pouring down. We now beat a rapid 
retreat to the tavern, where we were immured for the 
remainder of the day. How we passed the time, 
Coggs says, '' Heaven only knows." We do know, 
however, that we had ham and eggs for dinner, and 
that we went to bed directly after tea ; that we first 
gave orders, however, to be called in time for the 
" first morning train to the city," but that, neverthe- 
less, " those d — d cocks," as Coggs called them, woke 
us long before the time. Coggs has never been in the 
country since. 



84 WRITINGS OF 



FEEE CHUECHES FOE THE POOK 

W EALTHY Churchman. — My dear friend, why do 
you not devote your energies to the spiritual welfare 
of mankind, instead of aiming merely to supply their 
temporal wants ? Do you not see that you should 
strike at the root ? Make men religious, and they 
will be honest, sober, contented, and diligent ; and 
" the hand of the diligent maketh rich." 

Philanthropist. — Since you are so solicitous, my 
dear sir, for their spiritual welfare, may I ask why 
you^ also, do not devote your energies to the same 
course ? 

Churchman {astonished). — I, sir? Why, that is 
what Pm doing. 

Philanthropist. — Excuse me, my friend ; you aid 
in building gorgeous churches, and fattening luxurious 
ministers ; but I do not see how, by so doing, you con- 
tribute to the spiritual welfare of mankind. 

Churchman. — But we must have churches ! 



GEORGE POLLEN. 85 

Philanthropist. — But not necessarily expensive 
ones. 

Churchman. — And we must have ministers ! 

Philanthropist. — But not necessarily luxurious 
ones. According to your practice, you raise mag- 
nificent buildings, and employ popular preachers and 
vocalists at extravagant rates. The result is, your 
churches are filled with fashionable audiences, part of 
whom go to hear the music, and part the preacher — 
but the majority to be seen and known as attending 
" such-and-such " church. 

Churchman. — But, my dear sir, these very people 
have an opportunity of hearing valuable truths, and, 
though they may go at first from such motives as you 
suggest, they may afterwards do so from purer and 
higher motives. 

Philanthropist. — Yet, even allowing the possi- 
bility of what you say, still you do not contribute to 
the spiritual welfare of mankind, but only to that of 
a small class, viz., the wealthy. It is only the rich 
man, now-a-days, who can afibrd the luxury of going 
to church. The thousands of poor, even if they had 
the inclination, have not the means. 

Chltschman. — But, my dear sir, what would you 
have us do ? We cannot mix indiscriminately with 
the poor, who are noted for their unclean habits, and 
the very contact with whom would turn the stomachs 
of the more refined. 

Philanthropist. — I can understand and appreciate 



86 WRITINGS OF 

jonr fastidiousness ; but it is not necessary to sacrifice 
even siicli feelings. Why not build less expensive 
churches ; take for your ministers a man contented to 
live more humbly than your popular friends ; give up 
hired singers, and let your Sabbath scholars form the 
choir, and sing the hymns simply, giving the congre- 
gation an opportunity of joining in singing the praises 
of the Creator ? Then you will have a surplus suffi- 
cient, or at least aiding, to endow free churches for 
the poor. The first question is, " Do the poor need 
churches ? " and then, if they do, the next one is, 
** Have they them ? " You have only to look about 
you to see that they have them not / that preaching 
the gospel to all, is confined to preaching it to the 
rich ; that there are thousands who, if they had the 
inclination, have not the means to go to church ; and 
I say it is a shame that a Christian country like this 
should not have enough churches to accommodate the 
poor, and yet have so many expensive and stately 
edifices for the rich. 

When you retrench your expenses, and aid in 
endowing free churches for the poor, then you may 
ask me with some plausibility why I do not devote 
myself to the spiritual welfare of mankind. Until 
then, I must labor to give them the means to go to 
church. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 87 



KEFLECTIONS 

OF A NEW-YORK POLICEMAN. 

_L AM one of the ]5^ew-York Police. I have been 
engaged in many nefarious transactions ; however, I 
needn't tell you that, after having already told you 
that I am one of the New- York Police. All njen are 
prone to err. It is the doctrine taught every Sunday 
in the church ; and yet you blame the policemen for 
not being faithful to their duty. Short-sighted com- 
munity of New- York ! Policemen are not superior to 
other men. They have passions as well as other men 
— they are selfish, too, as other men ; and yet, with 
the same disposition to err, they are thrown, aye, 
forced into all manner of temptations. Like other 
men, I have a failing for the fair sex. But why am 
I allowed to indulge it? Why, even in the face of 
the whole city, am I allowed to stand on the corners 
of the streets dallying with the frail fair? Because 



88 WRITINGS OF 

I am a policeman. Why may / alone stand unmoved, 
and look on at a jolly row without interfering ? Be- 
cause I am a policeman. Why can I connive at 
gambling, burglary, and garroting, but because I am 
a policeman ? 

Surely it is a glorious privilege to be a policeman, 
since its garb covers such a multitude of sins. Some- 
times I would have some privacy ; for, like other great 
men, there are seasons (and especially in my case in 
the winter) wdien I would prefer to play an unnoticed 
part, so I take an incognito. Sometimes, if the weather 
be cold or wet, I pass into the snug corner of some ale- 
house, and quietly enjoy my toddy and cigar until 
relieved by change of watch ; or, if the weather be 
pleasant, I saunter up and down on my " beat," 
beneath the glorious light of the moon, and muse on 
human nature ; for my occupation has made me 
philosophical, and I am epicurean, peripatetic, or 
stoic, as suits my humor. 

"The proper study of mankind," says the poet, 
" is man ; " and, of all the occupations in this world, 
that of the New^-York policeman affords the greatest 
facilities for such a study. To study human nature 
properly, one must be disengaged from all strifes, and, 
avoiding the actual struggle of life, become a mere 
looker-on ; but to do so, one must have the means 
independent of his own labor, otherwise he is apt to 
be prejudiced. Those means are furnished to the I^ew- 
York policeman by the City Government ; and though 



GEORGE POLLEN. 89 

'^ ill his sleeve " he may laugh at his patrons, still he 
accepts their bounty — for the New- York policeman, as 
I before said, is a philosopher. Being a philosopher, 
I am a -man of liberal views ; and, consequent!}, can- 
not resist a sneer at the civilization and refinement of 
a state of society which not merely allows such a class 
of men as we are to exist, but actually supports us. 
In the history of nations, even the most barbarous, can 
you find such a precedent as this ? Criminal practices 
have been allowed, it is true, by diff*erent nations, but 
there was always some reason assigned for their toler- 
ation ; and though at the bottom it may have been 
mere sophistry, still it was deemed necessary to give 
a reason. But here, in the nineteenth century, boasters 
as we are of Progress, a class of men is sujpjported by 
a Government whose very laws and ordinances that 
class is constantly violating, and that, too, in its very 
face, and with unblushing afirontery. Talk of sine- 
cures ! Wliat sinecure like that of a New- York 
policeman? In spite of my interests, I despise my 
own employers. 

However, thank fortune, there is no evil without 
its accompanying good ; and those poor, half-starved 
students, who cultivate their minds at the expense of 
their bodies, have at length a career in life open for 
them. In the ranks of the New-York policemen, they 
will be well-fed, clothed, and housed, and no labor 
required of them in return. To be sure, they may 
find themselves the companions of vagabonds and 
12 



9© WRITINGS OF 

scoundrels ; but then, let them consider that they 
will thus have an opportunity of studying a new 
phase of life. 

On the whole, 1 am inclined to think that the 
citizens of l^ew-York should be thankful to the 
authorities for having given them, at least, a jphilo- 
soj>hical jfolice. Theirs truly. Policeman A. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 9 1 



A DREAM. 

J.-/ ARK Night had thrown her pall upon the world, 
And in a death-like silence all was hushed, 
Save the low rumbling thunder, following on 
Th' electric flash, which lightened for a time 
The darkened skies. 

Drowsy, I sought repose. 
The day throughout had been a fearful one — 
Black, threatening clouds rolled through the sky 
In silent gloom, hiding the ethereal blue ; 
The air was filled with lurid gleams of light. 
The rain in heavy sheets came pouring down. 
And the elemental war raged fierce around. 
— ^Methought, upon a mountain's peak I stood — 
I knew not how, nor why, but there I was — 
When from the blackened bosom of a cloud 
The lightning sprang — and down a deep abyss 
I sank, sank on, and never seemed to stop. 
A thousand years seemed to have filled the space 



92 WRITINGS OF 

Of that slight clippmg of the wing of time. 

The dread, the awful agony I felt, 

Naught could express. I shouted, wild w^ith fears. 

I cried aloud, and echoes but sent back 

My shouts to taunt me. 'Twas then in that dread void 

The shades of death upon me seemed to fall. 

And all the world was lost. 

Oh, frightful death ! 
Terrible picture of unbreathing clay, 
How dreadful e'en in life to think of thee ; 
But placed in truth before the startled sight, 
No words can tell thy terrors. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



93 



HOUSEKEEPING. 

-LlLousEKEEPiNG maj be called a homely subject, sug- 
gestive of scrubbing-brushes, brooms, kettles, pots and 
pans, soap-fat and ashes, &c., &c. ; but if more atten- 
tion were paid to homely subjects, there would be 
infinitely more happiness in this world. The neglect 
of little things frequently leads to great and serious 
results, and the absence of a tea-pot may raise a row 
in a household, and cause more disturbance than a 
tolerable good-sized calamity. 

But the position of a housekeeper is not such a 
very inferior post, after all, as some suppose. A 
housekeeper is a sovereign on a small scale — perhaps 
on an exceedingly small scale ; but, nevertheless a 
sovereign to all intents and purposes, as far as her 
sovereignty extends. And this sovereignty is the 
destiny of young girls who are called upon as wives 
to keep house. It is therefore incumbent on such to 
prepare themselves, by a proper education, for the 



94 WRITINGS OF 

adiniiiistratioii of their powers with dignity and 
efficiency. It is certainly not sufficient to know how 
to make cakes or to use a broom — a delusion under 
whi(;h the majority of young ladies seem to labor. 
On the contrary, a somewhat higher rank of quali- 
fications is necessary. With regard to her subjects, 
she should have firmness, but tempered by kindness ; 
prudence, yet not fearful ; watchfulness, yet not a spy. 
With regard to her administration, she should be eco- 
nomical, but not niggardly ; liberal, yet not profuse ; 
orderly, but not precise ; — while the taste and refine- 
ment of a cultivated mind should enable her so to 
dispose of every thing as to produce the pleasant, 
soothing eft'ect on the mind, of elegance combined 
with ease and comfort. Indeed, the greatest amount 
of comfort with the greatest amount of elegance should 
be the motto of every housekeeper. 

And in such a point of view does housekeeping 
become the most noble part of woman's mission — to 
make those happy and comfortable at home, who are 
laboring every day in the rough world for her ; to 
keep at least one spot tender in the hearts of those 
who would otherwise grow altogether hardened and 
callous ; to call into the face of man that grateful 
look, that unmistakable expression of thankfulness, 
softening what would otherwise be harsh and repul- 
sive ; to make that eye tender almost to dimness. 
Why, to call such a look into the face of any man, 
should be, and is, ample compensation for any true 



GEORGE POLLE^J. 95 

woman. And is not such an aim as this, mure worthy 
a true woman, more satisfying, than all the false, 
fictitious glare and excitement of the ball-room ? It 
is indeed a melanchloly sight, after reflecting on how a 
woman should be brought up, to turn and contem- 
plate how she is actually brought up, taught, as she 
is, needlework in silk and worsted, drumming on the 
piano, meretricious dances, tfec, — every thing, in short, 
but self-denial, and how best to make those happy 
around her. Every thing she is taught has nothing 
for its end but the gratification of her miserable 
vanity. Now, there is not one of these accomplish- 
ments, with the exception of the present style of 
dancing, that is to be condemned in itself. Every 
one of them has its use and application in refining 
and adorning the mind, as the basis of solid attain- 
ments, but not to the exclusion of real duties, or of 
those solid attainments. But the women of the pres- 
ent day are educated to consider such accomplish- 
ments as the only true studies for them, and their 
own wretched vanity as their only aim. They are 
brought up to look upon housekeeping and other 
useful duties as fit only for inferior beings, and to 
look down w^ith the contempt of self-conceit on those 
who are in reality their superiors in all true nobleness. 
When they marry, and come to the performance of 
household duties, they employ, if they have the means, 
what is called a " housekeeper," and who, in reality, 
becomes their mistress, or else they come to the duties 



96 WRITINGS OF 

themselves with listless inditference and inefficiency. 
The results are, of course, squabbles, broils, and every 
tiling at sixes and sevens — in short, intestine war and 
anarchy. 

The best advice for a man, however wealthy he 
may be, is, never to marry a fashionable woman ; or, 
if he does, never to keep house. The average lot of 
man who marries a woman of fashion, is to be tied for 
life to a vain, heartless woman of mediocre abilities. 
Her small stock of ability being already distributed 
in the various accomplishments of painting, music, 
worsted-work, &c., w^ith the greatest portion of it in 
her legs — for fashionable women do excel in dancing — 
there remains nothing to supply her with conversation. 
The consequence is, a sort of dummy life. This unfor- 
tunate husband has a dummy for partner at breakfast, 
the same at dinner, and in the evening, and, if he 
accompanies her to her various haunts of dissipation, 
he has the gratification of seeing her excel in the parts 
of a mechanical automaton ; in other words, he is the 
enviable possessor of a combination of wires, cotton, 
and paste, dancing and gyrating about a room. 

To pass his life wdth any degree of comfort with 
such a being, his best plan will be to take furnished 
apartments — say a bedroom, parlor, and boudoir. 
This parlor the wife may fill with samples of her skill 
in painting — in other words, with her daubs ; she 
may here also exasperate her neighbors by a species 
of devil's tattoo on the piano, and which she dignifies 



GEORGE POLLEN. 97 

by the title of " Operatic Fantasias ; " stretclied on a 
luxurious lounge, she may listlessly turn the leaves of 
the last new novel ; or, before a full-length mirror, 
practise her arts of fascination. The boudoir is of 
course the wife's sanctum, and consequently forbidden 
ground for her husband. Indeed, it will be his wisest 
policy never to pry too inquisitively into its secrets, 
as he will thus, at least, have that amount of bliss 
which ignorance furnishes. Thus situated, and aided 
by that kind of fortitude which most men of the world 
possess, viz., a species of stupefaction of feeling, such 
a husband may enjoy a kind of negative happiness ; 
but the glow of kindly feeling, the mutual sympathy, 
love and respect, the excitement of generous emotions, 
the interchange of intelligent thought — in short, the 
two-in-one happiness of the true married state, will be 
totally wanting. Those true, simple pleasures never 
enter the circles of fashion, for the simple reason that 
they are totally discordant with it. 

Whether of the two, then, is preferred — the home 
with its simple but real pleasures ; or fashionable life, 
with its empty, unsatisfying vanities ? I must confess, 
for my own part, that it seems almost perfect folly to 
ask the question. 
13 



08 WRITINGS OF 



happi:n^ess. 

JLhere are some people in the world who regard 
" happiness " and " sleep " as synonymous terms. 
They believe that the greatest amount of happiness 
is the greatest amount of unconsciousness ; and though 
it may be said that their humor carries them a little 
too far, still there is some degree of wisdom in their 
belief. There is, indeed, no such thing in the world 
as absolute happiness, but the greatest amount of that 
commodity is, the least amount of unhappiness ; and 
it is certainly like sleep in one particular — the more 
you court it, the further it flies from you. 

The great error of mankind lies in looking upon 
happiness as the great aim of life ; whereas it is but 
the reward, and follows as a necessary consequence 
the fulfilment of that aim. The shortest road to hap- 
piness is, indeed, the path of duty. But man, forget- 
ting that the imperishable soul can never be satisfied 
with what is perishable, sets out to seek happiness, as 



GEORGE POLLEN. 99 

if he could find it in some perishable bauble, and, still 
more absurd, takes as his guide such will-o'-the-wisps 
as pleasure, ambition, &c. What wonder that he is 
constantly disappointed, only, in the end, to cry out, 
" Take away this bauble ! " " All is vanity and vex- 
ation of spirit — and there is no new thing under the 
sun ! " What else, indeed, could he rationally expect ? 
" There is no new thing under the sun — and all is 
vanity and vexation of spirit." But then, why should 
it be otherwise? It is in the order of Creation, and 
the Great Governor of the Uuniverse surely knows 
better how it should be, than one of his mere creations 
— a mere speck on the earth's surface, a mere mote in 
the sunbeams — for such is man. Even the finite mind 
of man is able to comprehend, if it will, the wisdom of 
such a decree ; for man must die, and if his every wish 
were gratified here, his exit from the world would be 
terrible. It is this very vanity of earth's pleasures 
that leads man to nobler and higher aspirations, that 
points out to him his true destiny. Why we should 
go through this ordeal, we of course cannot tell. We 
cannot penetrate the unfathomable, but must take the 
world as we find it ; and this is no mere dictate of 
expediency. We are to take the world as we find it — 
not because we cannot help it, but because it is best 
that it should be as it is. We are not, moreover, to 
set up a cry because we cannot have every bauble our 
fancy longs for ; or, if our fancy be gratified, because 
such gratification leads to satiety. That is only the 

I: OF u 



lOO WRITINGS OF 

necessary consequence of the imperishable seeking its 
gratification in the perishable ; for all here is " vanity 
and vexation of spirit — and there is no new thing 
under the sun." Still, if the w^eariness, of which this 
saying is so expressive, turns with indifference from 
such a consideration — if it still continue to lament that 
" there is no new^ thing under the sun," even that im- 
plied wish for some new thing may be gratified. Let 
those who thus lament, cease their lamentations ; let 
them do good, and love their fellow-men as much as 
they do themselves ; let them become humble, patient, 
and self-denying, and I warrant there will be some- 
thing new under the sun. Wealth, pleasure, ambition, 
may all be vanity ; but patience is not, self-denial is 
not, love IS not. Of course, we use the term " love " 
in its true signification — not that weak, maudlin senti- 
mentality, with which it is so frequently associated, 
but a noble, healthy sympathy for others. Indeed, 
this word has been so degraded by a false use of it, 
that it is almost dangerous to employ it any more. 
But it is nevertheless true that he wdio really " loves 
God with all his heart, soul, and mind, and his neigh- 
bor as himself," will do his duty, and enjoy as much 
happiness as he is capable of in this mortal state. 

Let a man but make the experiment for himself. 
Let him, who has hitherto made his own happiness his 
aim, now renounce the search for it. Let him nobly 
enter upon the path of duty, and strive to truly love 
others, strive to be patient, humble, and self-denying, 



GEORGE POLLEN. lOI 

and in his striving, let him banish all thought of self, 
and think only of the happiness of others. We will 
venture to say that he will wake up some day to the 
consciousness of a happiness that he never thought of 
obtaining. Tliis is no mere theory. It has been tested, 
and it only asks the experiment to warrant its success. 
The shortest road to happiness is the path of duty. 



I02 WRITINGS OF 



CAUSES OF SOUTHEKN DISTUKBANCE. 

W HAT are the grounds of complaint ? We cannot 
understand why the majority of the sovereign people 
of the I^orth are not as much aggrieved as the South, 
BO far at least as their honor is concerned. 

It is an insult to the sovereign people of the 
United States in general {whether North or South) ^ 
that nine States of the Union should have violated 
the Constitution and set at defiance the will of the 
sovereign people, as expressed by the Fugitive Slave 
Law. For is not the lS"ational Government supreme 
over the States ? 

What is the preamble of the Constitution ? 

" We the people of the United States, in order to 
form a more perfect Union, establish justice, insure 
domestic t/ranquillity^ provide for the common defence^ 
promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings 
of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain 
and establish this Constitution of the United States 
of America." 



GEORGE POLLEN. I03 

" By the terms of the compact " {we now quote 
Dueis '' Outlines of the Constitution ") '^ the States, 
as members of the Union, are no longer regarded in 
their sovereign and corporate capacities, as they sur- 
rendered such portions of their sovereignties as were 
requisite for the purposes of ISTational Government." 

" From the nature of the case the National and 
State Governments cannot be coequaL The Consti- 
tution, in the name of the whole jpeople^ accordingly 
declares its own supremacy and that of the laws made 
in pursuance thereto, and of treaties made under the 
authority of the United States over the constitutions 
and laws of the several States, and an attempt by any 
State to abrogate or annul an act of the National 
Legislature, is a direct usurpation of the powers of 
the General Government, an infringement on the 
rights of all the other States, and a plain violation 
of the paramount obligation of its members, to sup- 
port and obey the Constitution of the United States. 

" From this declaration of the supremacy of the 
Constitution, Laws, and Treaties of the United States, 
arises the duty of Courts of Justice to declare void 
any part of any State Constitution, or law which is 
repugnant to the Supreme law of the land ; and no 
State has authority, either by an act of ordinary legis- 
lation, or by a fundamental law, to declare void a law 
of the United States, or suspend its operation within 
the territorial jurisdiction of the State.'''' 

Now, what have nine States of the Union done 



104 



WRITINGS OF 



but violated the Constitution, in denying, as they have 
done, the authority of the National Government as 
expressed in the Fugitive Slave Law ? And we the 
sovereign people at the North are just as much 
aggrieved by such violation as the South, for are we 
not as much bound by the Constitution as the South ? 

But what has the election of Mr. Lincoln to do 
with this grievance? Why should it so aggravate 
our Southern brethren ? Throughout all Mr. Lin- 
cohi's conduct and speeches there breathes, on the 
contrary, the spirit of union, peace, and harmony. 
Thus far he appears only as a strong, firm, conserva- 
tive, Union-loving man ; and the South, instead of 
being apprehensive for their rights, ought, on the 
contrary, to be reassured by his election. That elec- 
tion was a regular one, and made according to the 
Constitution, w^hich we are all bound to obey. 

No, sir, it is the present Administration wdiicli is 
at fault. It is too weak to enforce the rightful suprem- 
acy of the National Government ; and our only hope 
for redress lies in the future Administration of the 
President elect. 

Let us, then, the sovereign people, whether North 
or South, be patient a little longer. Let us wait and 
see how our future President will act. We ourselves 
feel assured that he will do every thing that is right 
according to the Constitution. 

Let our Southern brethren in particular, remember 
that our glorious Constitution has for over half a cen- 



GEORGE POLLEN. I05 

turj " accomplished most effectually and happily the 
great ends for which it was ordained," and let us all 
hope that the next Administration will see all these 
vexing questions which have arisen, completely settled 
forever. Better to live together in peace and harmony, 
with mutual concessions on either side, than to be at 
variance with one another. 

" United we stand, divided we fall ; " and may that 
day never come when we shall see our glorious motto, 
" E Pluribus Unum^^ turned into " Tot liosiesP 

Then join in hand, brave Americans all, 
By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall. 

14 



I06 WRITINGS OF 



SECESSION OF TEXAS. 

V^AN the reports that are in circulation about Texas 
be true? Can she in reality be so ungrateful as to 
even think of seceding ? Her secession would be the 
blackest blot of ingratitude on the page of history. 

Her independence and annexation alone cost the 
United States about fifty thousand men and sixty million 
dollars ; and in addition, the United States afterwards 
paid off her debt, amounting to some eight millions or 
more of dollars. 

, : It is a singular fact, that, in a speech made in 1845, 
we then expressed our apprehensions of her in the fol- 
lowing words : " May we not be nourishing a viper, 
which will at some future day turn upon and sting us 
for our generosity to it ? May we not, at some future 
time, I say, rue the day when first we joined her to our 
Confederacy ? " 

"We most sincerely hope that our former apprehen- 
sions are not now to become realized prophecies ; but 
if they do, we can only say, Thank God we are no 
Texan. 



GEORGE POLLEN. IO7 



SUGGESTIONS OF THE TIMES. 

OoiJLD not the Constitution be so amended as to pro- 
vide for the punishment not only of treason, but also 
of the utterers of treasonable language ? And would 
not such be a wise amendment? For who are the 
most culpable— the head devils, or their poor tools? 
Are not the abolitionists the prime instigators of the 
rebellion, if such there should be ? If, by an amend- 
ment of the Constitution, we could have the most 
rabid of that class exiled— say, to the other side of 
the Eocky Mountains — we would soon be rid of all 
our troubles. They would undoubtedly soon extirpate 
themselves like so many Kilkenny cats, and the 
country would be rid of a great nuisance. 

When the body physical is attacked by a sickness 
resulting in eruptions on its surface, we do not confine 
ourselves to the eruptions themselves, but Ave go to 
the cause of them. We purge the body of the offend- 
ing causes. And so with the body politic. Let us 



I08 WRITINGS OF 

only once get rid of these fanatical abolitionists, pro- 
viding at the same time for all future offenders, and 
we could soon be well again, and remain so. 

Again if certain States at the Noi'th are allowed to 
violate the Constitution with impunity, why should 
not the South be allowed the same privilege? One 
would suppose that the old, intolerant, fanatic spirit 
of JSTew England was again reviving, and before long 
we will be forbidden to " kiss onr wives and children 
on Sunday ; " be obliged to " have our hair cut round 
like a cap ; " will " not be allowed to read Common 
Prayer, keep Christmas or saint days, make mince 
pies, dance, or play on any instrument of music, 
excejpt the drum, trumpet, and jew's-harp ; " and as 
for the poor quakers and heretics, *■' no food or lodging 
shall be afforded to a Quaker, Adamite, or other 
heretic." (Blue Laws.) 

Why, we at the lN"orth are as much interested as 
the South in putting down these fanatical abolitionists 
who so disturb the peace and harmony of the country. 
They are comparatively few, and we surely are not 
going to be sacrificed to a handful of bigots. 

We heard a gentleman say, last evening, that, in 
case South Carolina should secede {which, hy-the-ly, he 
would he sorry to aee her do\ he hoped that Massachu- 
setts would secede with her. 

There is a good deal of common sense at the bot- 
tom of this ai)parently absurd idea. It shows, too, 
the feeling of all true conservatives at the North — a 



GEORGE POLLEN. IO9 

desire to get rid of the agitators and disturbers of the 
Union. 

The conservatives are quiet, order-loving men, 
devoted to the Constitution, and not only perfectly 
willing to obey its laws, but actually taking pleasure 
in obeying them. They feel grateful to the Constitu- 
tion which has done so much for them, and cheerfully 
testify their gratitude by observing all its decisions. 

The radicals, on the other hand, are discontented, 
noisy men ; unprincipled demagogues, whose sole 
object is plunder or personal ambition, in combina- 
tion with narrow-minded fanatics, turbulent, disor- 
derly men, who obey no law founded on reason, but 
who are yet in the worst state of slavery that could 
be desired — they are all slaves to their passions. These 
are the men who first violate the Constitution them- 
selves, and then incite others to do the same. 

They are like certain selfish men who put up at a 
hotel, and, because they cannot have a monopoly of 
the servants and every thing else in the house, straight- 
way make complaints and raise a disturbance which 
threatens the peace and quiet of the w^hole house. It 
is impossible to conciliate such beings. There is no 
reason nor feeling in them. Slaves to their passions, 
they will listen to nothing but their passions, and the 
only way to live with them is to be their slave. At 
length the keeper of the hotel finds that, even though 
" he may be a good man," still " he'll not be able to 
keep a hotel " if these pests remain in it ; so, like a 



no WRITINGS OF 



wise man, he quietly ejects them. All the quiet, order- 
loving inmates draw individual breaths of relief, and 
peace and quiet are again restored. 

Just such a set has the United States hotel in that 
wing of it called New England ; and the question is, 
whether we shall ever have peace or quietness till we 
either get rid of them, or force their rebellious natures 
to submit quietly to the laws. 

For our own part, we are in favor of getting rid 
of them. They have violated the compact made by 
them with the United States, and therefore are no 
longer one with us. Let, then, all who love the Con- 
stitution, all conservative men, both North and South, 
let all join together and amend the Constitution, so 
that, if a State pass laws which conflict with those of 
the National Government, the Constitution shall have 
power to repeal those laws ; and if the State do not 
obey the General Government within a certain speci- 
fied time, then that State shall be formally read out of 
the Union, but held in subjection to the General Gov- 
ernment. 

In this way we might get rid of all the festers and 
pestilent sores that now threaten to dissolve our Con- 
stitution, and the great Union would work on in silent 
majesty, undisturbed by the snarls of petty curs ; mean- 
while the curs would begin to consider the expediency 
of keeping quiet, in order to keep themselves out of 
the dog-pound. 



GEORGE POLLEN. m 



STICK TO THE C0:NSTITUTI0N. 

VV HAT is our duty in the present state of affairs ? 
What, but to still stick to the Constitution ; and to 
stick by her, yes, to the death. 

Though the abolitionists of the North have at- 
tempted to stir up a mutiny in the ship ; though the 
fire-eaters of the South seemed determined to desert 
her ; though every thing looks gloomy, and the good 
ship seems threatened with destruction ; still must we, 
conservative. Union-loving men, stand by her. Such 
is our duty — the duty of all conservatives, both ]N"orth 
and South. We must still sti(ik to the ship. We owe 
her too much to now basely desert her. We have 
pledged ourselves to stand by her, and stand by her 
we must. So long as one plank remains, around that 
plank we must rally. 

We have deprecated the acts of the abolitionists. 
We have entreated and expostulated with the fire- 
eaters. But all seems of no avail ; and thev seem 



112 WRITINGS OF 

bent not only on their own destruction, bnt on that 
of the good ship, too. This last, however, they shall 
not accomplish, so long as we have hand or foot to 
defend her. 

The course of the extreme parties is not only im- 
politic, hut it is likewise both wicked and ungrateful. 
The abolitionists, in the first place, have violated their 
oath to protect the Constitution. They have enacted 
laws conflicting with the supreme law of the land to 
which they were subject. Forgetful of all the pros- 
perity and advantages they have derived from the 
Union, they strive to undermine it on account of what 
they consider a fault in it. Even if it were a fault — 
which, however, we most emphatically deny — still they 
can never be justified in the course they have taken. 
They were hound to protect and strengthen the Union. 
They have tried to undermine and weaken it. They 
have not only violated their duty, but they have acted 
no less foolishly than the man who killed the goose 
that laid the golden eggs. But, say the abolitionists, 
our principles are opposed to slavery. We cannot 
live in unison with such an institution. " Ye blind 
guides, which strain at a gnat and swallow a camel." 
Have you not " omitted the weightier matters of the 
law, judgment, mercy, and faith ? " Were you not 
bound by compact to obey the laws of the land ? 
Have abolitionists indeed turned Jesuits ? If you did 
not like the laws of the land, why did you bind your- 
selves to obey them ? or why, being bound, did you 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



113 



not first unloose yourselves ? You talk of the " higher 
law," but it occurs to us that you do not practise its 
teachings. 

As for the seceders, there is but one course for 
them, viz., to get an amendment of the Constitution 
naming the particular States which wish to secede, 
and then they can "go in peace." Otherwise it is 
impossible. As a gentleman from Virginia has already 
remarked, " What credit would the Government be 
entitled to, and what could it obtain either at home 
or abroad, if it were understood that any one State 
might at any moment break up the Government and 
thus cancel the debt ? " If one State has the right to 
secede, of course all the rest could follow in its track. 

No, we must stick by the Constitution. There is 
every motive for doing so ; and if justice and grati- 
tude are not strong enough, why, even expediency 
compels us to stand by our Union. She may be 
mutilated, but she cannot be dissolved. 
15 



14 WRITINGS OF 



FIEST IMPKESSIONS OF SAKATOGA. 

j\^Y very coming here was ominous, as, having left 
New York on the 4:th of July, the retrospection of my 
trip seems nothing but a hideous dream — a confused 
medley of rowdies, firemen, drunken men, hooting 
boys, combats, fire-crackers, and a general hullabaloo. 
On reaching here, I strove in vain for some recog- 
nition of rural aspects ; went through a paved street 
to the " United States," found gas, and all the appli- 
ances of metropolitan comfort, excepting a want of 
bell in my room. Said room might be called small — 
a seven-by-nine box, so choked up with a small table, 
small bedstead, small washstand, and small wardrobe, 
together with two chairs and the inevitable rocker, 
that it was impossible to turn round without barking 
my shins at every movement. There being no bell, 
as already mentioned, I was obliged to dress in the 
dark ; and fifteen minutes only being allowed for that 
operation, found it, of course, insufficient, and came 
down late to a very unsatisfactory tea — all my own 



GEORGE POLLEN. 115 

fault, however, as I'd no business to be born in a fast 
country. Very few people here, so sat on the piazza 
and smoked till I heard a very deep bass clock tolling 
the hour — counted first 11, then 12 in a different key 
up to 22 — then 23 in a different and higher key to 33 
— then 34 in a still higher key up to 44 — began to be 
alarmed, as 45 o'clock now struck and went on in a 
squeaking tone to 55. Here it stopped — at 55 o'clock 
it's high time to go to bed. This singular time of 
night might be explained on the very ignoble hypothe- 
sis that I was so " tight " that I heard quintuple in- 
stead of double, the usual phenomenon attending that 
state described by the w^ord " tight ; " but the true 
solution of the mystery, was the fact of five different 
clocks telling the hour, and all so well-bred that each 
waited till the other got through before commencing 
to give his evidence of the passage of time. Man. — 
Time does pass in Saratoga, notwithstanding that many 
affirm that it does not. 

In the morning I made a second though very vain 
attempt to discover some evidence of being in the 
country, by looking out of my w^indow. I had a 
magnificent prospect — of reaching the country if I 
chose, but not of being there already. This prospect 
consisted of the inducements held out by a row of 
ticket offices of nearly all the railroads in the United 
States. There was the Hudson Eiver Kailroad ticket 
office, also one for Worcester, Newport, Lowxll, Bel- 
lows Falls, White Mountains, Brattleboro, &c., &c. 



Il6 WRITINGS OF 

To the left of these offices was the livery stable of 
the " United States Hotel," and I had the satisfaction 
of seeing six horses in process of grooming. (Par 
parenthesis.) No wonder that horses stare with aston- 
ishment under the operation ; they must naturally feel 
very curious to know w^hy they should be scraped and 
rubbed down with sharp iron points ; and who can be 
surprised that the intelligent, perhaps well-fed horse 
exhibits resentment by his kicks, bites, and struggles. 
Not I, for one ; and I w^as perfectly delighted at see- 
ing one of these intelligent creatures pick up one of 
the grooms by the seat of his trowsers and lay him 
sprawling over a neighboring bucket of water. 

I was infoimed, on going to breakfast, that it was 
the custom of the country to go, before eating said 
breakfast, to what they called " Congress Spring," and 
drink the waters. It is enough to say that I did so. 
I arrested my steps to the breakfast room, and went 
to the spring first. It was my first — it is my last — 
attempt to perform any similar feat. I witnessed 
several cretins, so misguided as to drink of it abun- 
dantly, but Nature was too strong in me to imitate 
their example. I regret that the only beautiful oasis 
of Saratoga lies around that spring ; but I have since 
been unable to pass through that frightful ordeal in 
order to reach the oasis. Delicac^^ forbids me to 
mention the result of my foolish attempt to follow the 
customs of the countiy ; but 1 may add, those results 
were frightful in their nature. 



GEORGE POLLEN. II7 

I passed my day in looking in the jewellers' win- 
dows, and in sauntering about devoured with ennui. 
But in the evening the moon came out/ and I wan- 
dered, cigar in hand, towards the " Indian " encamp- 
ment. The approach to it is by a hill, and at length 
I saw some country. On the left of this hill stretched 
an open, undulating country, fairly revelling in the 
light of a full moon. The quiet scene, only enlivened 
by the chirp of the cricket, had a soothing effect on 
the senses. Just then the organ in a neighboring 
Roman Catholic church broke the silence, and the 
accompanying chant of the singers added to the in- 
tensity of the effect. I would have delivered myself 
up gladly to the romantic impressions crowding on 
my soul had it not been for the peculiar aroma of 
Paddies which came steaming through the open win- 
dows of the church, to say nothing of the dozen dogs 
barking and snapping at the calves of the suspicious- 
looking stranger. The result w^as, that my romantic 
impressions were so considerably modified that I re- 
turned to the hotel with a perfect conviction of the 
truth of that saying, " There's no rose without a 
thorn ; " undressed myself in disgust, and went to 
bed in despair. 

The truth is, that if any body visits Saratoga for 
pleasure, he, she, or it will be disappointed. It is 
only for cretins and invalids ; in other words, it is a 
remedial institution, and that's all. I am assured by 
physicians that the lives of hon vivants are here pro- 



Il8 WRITINGS OF 

longed. The waters carry oft* the carbon that has 
been accumulating in the system during the winter, 
and prepares them for another winter's campaign. 
Idiotic young men and coquetting young girls may 
derive some little entertainment in going through the 
ordeal of what is called flirtation ; but for other than 
remedial purposes — to persons of strong, healthy minds, 
at least — Saratoga is a nullity. 



GEORGE POLLEN. II9 



PEETINENT INQUIEIES. 

_Ls a republic in reality a Utopia? If not, what is 
the cause of the inefficiency and laxity of our Govern- 
ment ? I understand that the problem to be solved in 
political science is, the greatest amount of freedom 
consistent witli security and protection. But if that 
freedom is to be purchased at the expense of life and 
property, the price, in my humble estimation, is en- 
tirely too dear. I confess to being no proficient in 
political science. I am merely a student of physi- 
ology ; but of what avail is it to study a man's physi- 
cal constitution, when his political constitution is all 
out of sorts, and I meanwhile get knocked on the head 
ah externa ? As a mortal, therefore, and as a member 
of this community — as an American born, and with 
that natural love of country which prevents emigra- 
tion, I should like to know where the fault lies, and 
why^ if it be not in our institutions themselves, it is 
not remedied ? Why are we at the mercy of " Short 



I20 WRITINGS OF 

Boys " and " Dead Rabbits ? " If you say, Because 
scoundrels and corrupt men are in office, then, liow 
did they get there? To take the simple case of the 
fii*st officer of this metropolis. I am assured that, on 
the eve of the last election, the candidate gave utter- 
ance to a sentiment too gross to mention, and one that 
shocked the moral sense of the community ; and yet 
he was elected, and has ever since held that position 
with the utmost effrontery ; and now, notwithstanding 
the wish of every order-loving citizen, he is confident 
of reelection. "Why is this ? If you answer. Because 
it is the will of the majority, then the majority are a 
set of scoundrels ; and if so, the right of suffi'age be- 
comes any thing but a glorious privilege. But if it 
be not the will of the majority, why is that will para- 
lyzed ? Surely, if the fault does not lie in our institu- 
tions, it is high time it should be proved. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 121 



THE POLAE BEAE ABOUT TOWN. 

± SHOULD like to know whether any one has any right 
to put a Polar bear on nay sidewalk, directly in front 
of my door? — a very conspicuous, very white Polar 
bear— hailing from "Empire Hall, Arctic Eegions." 
Can I sue the Arctic Eegions, or must I bear with 
them, and be only thankful that they didn't put one 
on my door-step ? 

There's one thing certain, it is not only a lea/r- 
faced imposition, but it is also a great nuisance. In 
the first place, my little girl was half-scared out of 
her wits the first time she saw it ; in the second place, 
every one who passes, turns round to look at it ; and 
in the third place, there's a small boy with " a letter 
in the post-oflSce," who constantly wants to know, 
every time I appear at the window, if I won't let him 
in for a cent— that being the whole amount of ready 
cash in his possession, according to his own account. 
Now, sir, am I to die without a struggle, under the 
16 



122 WRITINGS OF 

imputation of keeping a bear-garden ? Am I daily to 
be hooted at by a crowd of " ragamuffins," and stig- 
matized as an " old bear, without any hair," merely 
because I won't let them in my house at a cent a 
head ? No, sir ; I can bear with it no longer. I am 
no bear-baiter, and I insist on this bear-nuisance being 
abated. The idea ! — I to be a bear at home, when I'm 
— " a bull " in Wall street. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 23 



A FEENCHMAN IN NEW YOEK. 

Scene. — A room in a New York hotel. 

_r RENCHMAN {who has come to America to see the 
''institutions^'' and looh after his "securities,'' gor- 
geously attired— soliloquizes.)— Bj gar! I 'ave now 
been in dis dam city one tree days, and I 'ave lost 
aire my watch ; I 'ave been w'at you call ze garrote, 
by w'at you call ze " Dedrabbits ! "— ze Angleesh for 
Sepoy, eb? I 'ave had my hat knock-ed ovare my 
eyes. I 'ave one dam black eye. I am ver' meeser- 
able. I am sick at my stomac' wid ze colics from w'at 
you call ze bockewhete cakes, and I feel ver' moche 
ennui. Wat shall I do wid myself? I 'ave one dam 
mind to shoot my brains, but ze pistol in zis countree 
wid w'at you call ze Colt revolve nevare go off. Ze 
pistol-man he tell me zat is nossing ; zat he only hang 
ze fire. Wat ze tebble ! By gar ! ze pistol Ameri- 
cain am like ze people Americain — ze cap ovare you 



124 WRITINGS OF 

eyes tout le temps^ ze Amerique savage I By gar ! it 
is diabolique. JS^o gendarmerie^ and wid ze Sepoys 
everywhere, I am ver' moclie confuse in my head. 
Eh ! by gar ! I 'ave one idea, I will go back to ze 
France right away, tout de suite, instamment. — {Packs 
up.) 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 25 



DEFECTS OF OUR POLICE. 

J-F men were angels, the use or necessity of laws 
might be made matter for doubt ; but as men happen 
to be only men, the efficiency of laws ought certainly 
not to be disregarded. 

It is an established fact, that the wealth and wel- 
fare of a community depend on good and just laws 
efficiently administered ; and this is easily illustrated. 
The property gained by honest industry should be 
protected ; for who will labor while conscious that 
all his labor goes for naught, and that its fruits may 
be snatched from him with impunity by vagabonds too 
lazy to work ? 

Our present position is, to be sure, an unpleasant 
one. Misfortune has undoubtedly overtaken us. But 
there are two ways of meeting misfortune : one is, to 
lie supinely and endure it with the abject submission 
of cravens ; the other, to rise manfully and meet it 
with the courage and energy of true men. But the 



126 WRITINGS OF 

true cause of what we are at present suffering, politi- 
cally, may be traced to apathy itself. Our very suf- 
fering is caused by our craven submission. If we 
w^ould ouly bestir ourselves, investigate keenly, and 
act promptly and "sigorously, we might soon put a stop 
to all this rowdyism and crime. What our Govern- 
ment wants, is sound, vigorous treatment ; and lo ! our 
Government w^ouM rise from tlie dead. 

What, for instance, is wanting in one very impor- 
tant department — that, namely, of police ? We want 
numbers, perhaps, but yet not numbers so much as 
discipline. Kow, what is to prevent our having such 
discipline ? Nothing under the sun but the craven 
submission of the rulers to be ruled. What is to 
prevent the Police Commissioners from ordering that 
policemen shall not cease moving on their " l)eat " so 
long as they are on duty ; and not only to order it, 
but to enforce it? Tins is no time for maw^kish 
squeamishness. The policeman knows the conditions 
of his service, and if he violates them, he ought to be 
punished as well as any other violator of the law. 
The policeman's physical inability to perform the 
conditions is no excuse whatever. He ought not to 
have undertaken them ; or, if he has done so already, 
he ought to give notice, and send in his resignation. 
If it be in reality true that there are so many able- 
bodied men out of employment, the ranks can easily 
be reinforced, and it would be a great w^onder if, out 
of so many of them, enough could not be found capa- 



GEORGE POLLEN. 12 7 

ble of enduring what Englishmen can. If, however, 
that be the case, let us import Englishmen ; and as 
the Pope in Rome has a Swiss body-guard, so let us 
have an English police. Better be protected by an 
English police, than be the victims of American row- 
dyism. 

There is no reason why we should not have an 
efficient police ; and if we do not, the fault lies with 
the citizens themselves. 



128 WRITINGS OF 



NOCTES NOVI EBOEACI. 

Scene. — The entry of a dwelling in the nineteenth 
century— half -past 7, P. M. — Mr. G. putting on 
his overcoat. 

VV iFE. — Where are you going, dear ? 

Mr. G. — Just to take a little walk. I'll be back 

soon. 

Wife. — Have you got your pistol ? 
Mr. G. — I believe I have — yes, here it is ! 
Wife. — And your dagger ? 
Mr. G. — Yes ; I always carry that. 
Wife. — Well, don't forget your sw^ord-cane. 
Mr. G. — I won't, dear ! Good night. 
Wife. — {sohhiiig). — Good night! Oh, dear! I do 
hope you'll come back safe. {Exit Mr. G.) 

Scene. — Same dwelling — 8 P. M. 
Wife {sohbing).—l wonder why Edward don't 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 29 

come home ? I hope nothing has happened to him. 
{Rising and walking about the room.) Oh, dear ! oh, 
dear! I'm so afraid ! What's that? {Opens the door 
and calls.) James! James! has Mr. G. come in 
yet? 

James. — N'o, ma'am ; not yet. 

Wife. — I thought I lieard the front door shut. 

James. — No, ma'am. 
Wife {closing the door and walking about the room 
again}) — It is very strange ! {Looks at her watch.) 
Five minutes past 8, and Edward not home ! {Calls 
Jam£s again.) 

James. — Yes, ma'am. 

Wife. — ^When Mr. G. comes in, I wish you'd let 
me know. 

James. — Yes, ma'am. {JExit James.) 

Wife. — James ! {James returns.) Suppose you 
look out the front door, and see if Mr. G. is in siglit. 

James {looks out of front door, and returns.) — No, 
ma'am ! 

Wife. — Oh ! catch me, James. {Faints. James 
catches her, lays her on the sofa, and rings the bell j 
servants all come up * house in uproar / lights moving 
from room to room, (&c.) 

Mr. G. {ascending stoop). — I wonder what's the 
matter. {Bushes into the house; rushes upstairs/ 
pistol drops, and goes off ; general scream all around, 
Mr. G. rushes into the room/ finds his wife in a 
dead faint, and the servants all huddled into a cor- 
17 



130 WRITINGS OF 

ner.) What's the matter ? {Wife comes to 1 embraces 
hiishand 'y explanations. Mr. G. promises not to go 
out again after darh / and probably loonH do so until 
we import that new English police^ 



GEORGE POLLEN. I3] 



A VISITOR FEOM HADES. 

Scene I. — Hades (in the sense of a place of departed 
spirits). The shades of revolutionary heroes flitting 
indignantly about. 

_b iRST Shade. — What can Jdc the matter with our 
descendants? After all the hardships and sufferings 
we have endured to give them freedom, they posi- 
tively seem to be throwing it away. 

Second Shade. — I'm sure I can't imagine. For 
some time past they seem to have been unable to 
govern themselves, and I have at last determined to 
go myself and learn the cause. 

Scene II.— New York. — Shade of Revolutionary Hero 
in cocked-hat, huchshin hreeches and top-loots. — 
Meets a Short-Boy. 

Eevolutionary {stopping Short-Boy). — Oh, my 
young friend, can you tell me " 



132 WRITINGS OF 

SnoRT-BoY. — Ki, lii ! what an old buffer ! I say, 
old boy, who cut your coat ? 

Revolutionary. — Cease your profanity, you scoun- 
drel, and answer my question, or I'll have you court- 
martialed for disobedience to orders. 

Short-Boy. — Ha ! ha ! — orders ! We don't stand 
no such talk here, now-a-days. 
Bevoltjtionary. — Sirrah ! 

Short-Boy. — N^ow, see here, none of yer sir-rees to 
me. You go home, or I'll punch yer head for you ! 
I'd garrote you, if I thought there was any thing in 
those yellow breeches of yours ; but that's an impossi- 
bility. So you'd better go home, and not meddle with 
the powers that be. 

Revolutionary. — Why, you infernal scoundrel ! 
Sergeant of the Seventy-sixth, put this ruffian in irons 
immediately. 

Short-Boy. — Bah ! what are you blowing about ? 
Now you go home, if you don't want yer head 
punched. 

Revolutionary. — Pshaw! I forget myself. Po- 
lice ! police ! 

Short-Boy. — Ha! ha! that's a good 'un. Perlice! 
Why, there ain't no perlice, now-a-days. 

Revolutionary. — No police ! What's that man 
over there, with buttons and a cap ? Police ! police ! 

{Policeman, with hands in his pochets and a cigar 
in his mouth, turns round, and then deliberately walks 
off and joins another policeman, who, gaping and 



GEORGE POLLEN. 133 

Stretching, pr(yposes " a drinh,'' when loth disappear 
in a neigKboring ceUar.) 

Short-Boy.— Well, what do you think of the per- 
lice now ? And now Tm going to polish off yer top- 
knot. 

{Attacks old Revolutionary, lut finds he's got other 
stuff to deal with than modern flesh and Hood, and 
soon gets ''polished off'' himself ; after which the old 
Revolutionary marches off indignant, and returns to 
Hades.) 

Scene 111.— Hades again. 

First Shade.— Well, w^hat's the matter ? 

Second Shade.— ^ most decided want of disci- 
pline ! That's all. 

First Shade.— And qnite enough. Well, the only 
thing there for them is, to suffer. If they won't learn 
wisdom by reason, then let them learn it by experience. 



134 



WRITINGS OF 



FIRST IMPRESSIOXS OF NEWPOET. 

_L AKE the 5 P. M. boat from Kew York to Fall 
Kiver ; take a state-room, take a very bad tea, take 
a seat on the promenade deck, and take a look at the 
scenery ; then request one of the " hands " to wake 
you up when you reach Newport ; and tlien take your 
bed. The result of all this will be, that, just as you 
are in your soundest sleep, at 2 A. M. you will be 
waked up, will dress yourself in a very incoherent 
manner, and come down-stairs to find yourself in 
Newport, with a pair of swollen eyes and an instinc- 
tive desire to be back in bed again. After being 
hustled through a crowd of " ]uckpockets," as you are 
intbrmcd by the numerous bills posted about the land- 
ing, you will find yourself hustled into a coach ; will 
be jolted about till you are wide awake enough to 
wonder when it will stop, and just as you arrive {it 
that state of wonderment, the coach will stop, the 
door will open, and, if you are next to it, you'll turn- 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 35 

ble out. Before you liavo time to say, " Is this New- 
l^ort ? " you will find a candle in your hand, and a 
sleepy black man showing you to your second roost- 
ing-place for the night. Yon go to roost, and wake 
up the next morning about 11 A. M., to open the 
window and see half a dozen niggers running about 
in an enclosure, knocking down chickens and then 
cutting off their heads with a most unparalleled and 
uncalled-for ferocity. This scene wakens you to the 
consciousness that you are eligibly roomed near the 
barn-yard appurtenances, and vividly suggests the idea 
that breakfast is a desirable item in existence. 

The above is one of the ways of reaching Newport. 
There are other routes hither, but, as this was repre- 
sented to me as the pleasantest, I of course chose this 
one. 

Query. — What must the others be ? 

After taking so much pains to get to a place, one 
is prepared to expect some reward for his trouble. 
And this much I will say, that, for air and climate, I 
know of none more agreeable and bracing than that 
of Newport ; also, that here we have napkins at break- 
fast, which we don't get at Saratoga {a very impor- 
tant consideration, hy-tlie-hy, for the man who sports a 
moustache). As for scenery, if an infinite number of 
hay-cocks and a boundless expanse of water constitute 
scenery, then Newport is unrivalled. With regard to 
the inhabitants, the indigenous Newporter is com- 
pletely lost amid the horde of strangers that has 



136 WRITINGS OF 

poured in from the North, East, South, and West. 
This introduction of a foreign element has considera- 
bly modified the character, Jiabits, and customs of the 
primitive people of the place. The Newport rustic, if 
ever there were such a being, and which one is much 
inclined to doubt, on his first stroll throngh Newport, 
that interesting individual, the rustic — so captivating 
to the imagination of romantic young ladies, that 
" dear love of a shepherd with a crook," — no longer 
exists here. The population consists almost entirely 
of city-breds, whose mornings are spent in dawdling 
about on the piazzas, or in the interchange of stiff 
visits ; and their afternoons in riding or driving to 
the Fort, the Beach, the Glen, Bateman's Point, the 
Spouting Horn, or the Boat-Honse ; wdiile Sunday 
afternoon is devoted to a walk on " the Cliffs " — that 
excessively romantic feature of Newport, wdth its forty 
steps, and gates to keep out cows, and which are also 
equally adapted for keeping out another feminine 
specimen of animated nature. 

I have been to three of the favorite daily places of 
resort— Bateman's Point, the Fort, and the Cliffs— and 
every ingenuous mind w^ould, I think, aw^ard the palm 
to the " Cliffs." Indeed, if any one have a particle of 
sublimity in his nature, let him go to the " Cliffs " of 
Newport. As he stands on the highest of these pre- 
cipitous steeps, he is apt to become very much awe- 
stricken ; and if he gazes down into the giddy abyss 
beneath, the terrific grandeur of the scene makes him 



GEORGE POLLEN. 137 

feel so very dizzj, that he is obliged to retreat twenty 
or thirty feet from the verge, and refresh his tumultuous 
soul by the contemplation of a more level and undu- 
lating surface. Truly, it is no tame spectacle, that of 
looking down from an immense height of, say (let me 
see, there are twelve inches to a foot, tw^elve times 
twenty inches is) two hundred and forty inches ; and 
then, when he dares to penetrate, with his excited eye, 
the dread abyss, to behold at the bottom the terrific 
whirl of the waters, the dashing, foaming, and roaring 
waves that must roll to the mountain height of six 
inches, and spatter him wdth their spray. The soul is 
undoubtedly very much inspired by such a scene, to 
say nothing of the courage evolved by running the risk 
of slipping into the frightful chasm, and perhaps tear- 
ing your pantaloons. 

The Fort, jper se, is undoubtedly a very grand 
work, but the going in the Fort, with its attendant 
circumstances, is a very bad business, in my estima- 
tion. As soon as you get inside, a very gruff soldier 
tells you to " get into line," when you find yourself 
part of a procession of carriages, horses, and wagons, 
all going in a circle round a small band of music in the 
centre of a grass-plot. My first round satisfied me, 
and I made an attempt to get out on reaching the 
gate. The attempt was in vain ; a soldier with a gun 
forbade all exit, and I was positively obliged to spend 
two mortal hours in this menagerie, going round and 
round like a circus-rider, and feeling very much like a 
IS 



138 WRITINGS OF 

caged hyena. But, of all absurdities, commend me to 
Bateman's Point. A stream of carriages rolls cease- 
lessly all the afternoon over a road guarded at inter- 
vals by about twenty gates. At each of these stands 
a ragged little urchin levying black mail. At the 
terminus, or " Point," the vehicles accumulate, chok- 
ing all passage, when the occupants immediately turn 
their faces towards the sea, and sit staring like a parcel 
of idiots at the expanse before them. After doing this 
for an hour or so, they all go home in procession as 
solemnly as they came. To a stranger, witnessing 
this spectacle for the first time, tlie only impression is, 
that the crowd is performing the funeral obsequies of 
Neptune. 

The evenings here are, of course, devoted to danc- 
ino-. What amused, and at first somewhat astonished 
me, is the sway exercised over a portion of society by 
what are called the " fashionables," Thus living in 
the same hotel Avith them, you are easily enabled to 
analyze their pretensions ; and the analysis only con- 
firms the truth of the old saying, that "confidence 
rules the majority of the world." 

By the aid of a little tact, these pretenders have 
assumed the power to dictate to, and exclude or admit 
into society. It is their confidence alone which gives 
them this pseudo-authority, for they possess neither 
intelligence, education, good-breeding, nor have they 
even the prestige of birth, being for the most part the 
grandchildren of persons who occupied an humble 



GEORGE POLLEN. I39 

sphere in life. Their rule, however, is, in fact, a lim- 
ited one ; their influence being exercised only over the 
feebler-minded of tlie community, who are imposed 
upon by display and pretension, and who forget that 
true nobility is courtesy itself. A part of the more 
intelligent and better-bred of the community are some- 
what given to wondering at their impertinence, occa- 
sionally get up a little indignation on the subject ; but 
their indignation is entirely misplaced. Any one may 
assume a " position," but it is not every one who pos- 
sesses it ; and these false pretenders are very easily 
dethroned, for they want the distinguishing charac- 
teristic's of true nobility, viz., courtesy and kindness. 
The old motto of " Nobtesce oblige " is a complete 
refutation of all their pretensions. For my own part, 
I never see them without being involuntarily reminded 
of the poor lunatic in his cell, who, with his pasteboard 
crown and sceptre of straw, imagines himself a king. 



I40 WRITINGS OF 



SAEATOGA. 

JLt is a fact, undoubtedly, that one may exist at Sara- 
toga — but, on two conditions — an ability to sustain an 
intense degree of heat, and the possession of a frame 
not requiring the recuperative properties of sleep. 

Had Hamlet been at Saratoga about the time he 
perpetrated that famous soliloquy of his : 

" Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew," &c., 

I am fully persuaded that the world would have lost 
that pathetic piece of eloquence. Hamlet would, 
undoubtedly, have left off his black clothes, put on 
white, sipped cobblers through straws, and, as he 
wiped his face, have thought there was too much of 
a dew, without wishing to be thawed or resolved into 
more of a one. 

And, as for sleep, he may justly be regarded with 
envy who can lose his consciousness amid the din of 



GEOR(JE POLLEN. T4I 

bells ringing, locomotive screams, and rolling of ten- 
pins, to say nothing of — 

" Locking of locks, 
Striking of clocks, 
Crowing of cocks," &c. 

By the by, I wonder why the cocks at Saratoga 
crow every night at one o'clock. Those roystering 
blades, in spite of their other numerous vices, gener- 
ally go to roost and rise at seasonable hours in other 
places ; but I suppose the lights in the ball-room keep 
them awake, and crowing is their only way of vent- 
ing their spleen. Their only needing one leg to stand 
on while asleep, and requiring two when awake, has 
always been a source of wonder to me. One would 
think that when asleep, they would want all the legs 
they had. 

Oh, dear ! I am sick and tired of sand, milliners' 
shops, jewellers, and over-dressed w^omen. I am dying 
for want of sleep, want of air, want of food, and want 
of scenery. I want to see mountains and lakes, run- 
ning waters, red barns, and cows grazing in fair pas- 
tures. I want mountains especially. I remember 
once to have been in love with a mountain — it lay so 
fair and beautiful beneath the warm sun — not per- 
spiring as I have seen mountains do, but fanned by 
cool breezes, with just enough of sun to take oif the 
chill. I wanted to fling myself in its embrace, but, 



142 WRITINGS OF ' 

uufortunately, my proportions were not sufficiently 
gigantic, so I was obliged to renounce the project. 

There is one consolation, however — I am not alone 
in my misery. There is a band of suffering young 
ladies here. Young ladies dying for want of young 
gentlemen to dance with. Their hearts are broken, 
and their souls harrowed up by the dismal fact that 
dancing men are at a discount. Yarious schemes have 
been suggested to remedy this want, but thus far, alas ! 
without success. A levy was made some time since on 
Sharon and other watering places, but a dreadful 
silence was the sole answer to the affecting appeal. 
Young men of the present day are not on]j revolting 
objects, but they are also in a state of revolt. The 
chivalry of America is fast dying out, at least to Sara- 
toga's appeals, and soon those worthy members of 
society — fiddle-scrapers, cornet-blowers, &c. — will find 
their summer's occupation gone. But what is there 
that despair will not effect? Even cornered rats will 
turn, and cornered young ladies must have a " turn." 
In their dilemma, and as a forlorn hope, they came to 
me. I have always played second-fiddle ; that is to 
say, when the younger men were away. I was " such 
a dear man," &c. ; so, of course, I took them to the 
lake, or out walking, or bowled with them ; but now 
I must not only play second-fiddle, but furnish them 
partners. The only idea that stniggled through my 
obtuse brain was (and what I still consider a grand 
and appropriate one), that they should dance with one 



GEORGE POLLEN. I43 

another. This proposition was received with the most 
undisguised contempt. No, they must have men to 
dance with ; that human being in tail coat, pumps, 
and trowsers. Being neither a married man, nor, if 
I were, such a Turk as to have forty sons, I was 
unable to alleviate their miseries. I gave up the 
problem ; but I now remember having noticed a very 
mysterious smile flitting over the face of one of the 
ladies. The next day I was waited on by a very 
elegant man with a fiddle, who politely informed me 
that he was a dancing-master, and had been engaged 
to teach me the steps. 



144 WRITINGS OF 



NEWPORT. 

JL HE man who comes to a Newport hotel in search 
of quiet, is about as great a victim of misplaced confi- 
dence as can well be imagined. In tlie first place, the 
quiet man is always put directly over the ball-room ; 
and, in the second place, he receives all those little 
distressing attentions, called stares, which dressed-up 
automatons are in the habit of bestowing upon human 
beings. In fact, he runs a perfect gauntlet of stares. 
The young ladies are tortured to know who that quiet 
man can be that's always poking about by him- 
self, and can only solve the mystery by determining 
he's either melancholy, or some nobleman in disguise, 
while the " tailor-signs " and the "■ barber-poles," after 
a minute inspection of his clothes and hair, set him 
down as some '' seedy cus," and wonder " what the 
d — 1 he came to Newport for." If the quiet man be 
also a meek one, he can settle the question of the 
stares by slipping out a side- door of the hotel ; but 



GEORGE POLLEN. 145 

the ball-room nuisance is another affair. The quiet 
man generally wants to go to bed early. He's bad 
bis tea, smoked bis cigar, looked at the moon, and 
now he pulls out his watch, and thinks " it's about 
time to go to bed." That's all very well — it's easy 
enough to go to bed—but the thing is to get what 
you go there for. The music is banging away under 
him, and, when that stops, tbere's the infernal buzz 
of conversation peculiar to ball-rooms. The quiet 
man can't sleep. Up he gets — applies a bad epithet 
to his neighbors below ; and, after muttering " Cursed 
fools ! " several times, picks up a book. But who can 
read with a tune galloping in his head ? He throws 
down his book, orders a bottle of ale, and, after smok- 
ing a cigar for a sedative, goes to bed again. He 
passes a night of delirious agony, dozes, and drops off, 
then pops straight out of bed as some shrill strain of 
music shrieks in his ear, and wakes up in the morning 
to find himself twisted up in the sheets, his pillow out 
of bed, and his head where his feet ought to be. He 
expostulates with the landlord, who, finding the quiet 
man is unpopular, and don't drink wine for dinner, 
coolly tells him he's sorry, but there's no other room 
vacant in the house. The next day the quiet man 
takes a mysterious departure, and the day after may 
be seen on the piazza of some quiet boarding-house, 
smoking his cigar, and moralizing on the vanities of 
human life. 

These very vanities, however, so inimical to the 
19 



146 WRITINGS OF 

tastes and habits of the quiet man, seem, nevertheless, 
to constitute the sole condition on which a certain 
class of beings are contented to exist. This class 
consists of that small number of beings who '' have 
nothing to do," and at the same time have no re- 
sources within themselves. To them, the principal 
one of these vanities — dancing — becomes the great 
occupation of their lives, and to this every thing else 
is subservient. Like watchmen and other night-labor- 
ers, they prosecute their calling in the night season, 
and like them devote the day to repose. The number 
of hours usually allotted to their occupation is five — 
from 10 P. M. to 3 A. M. — and during this time they 
labor with most extraordinary zeal. Their employ- 
ment consists in forming temporary partnerships of 
either sex, and then rushing to the sound of music, 
from one end of a large room to the other, with a 
species of bobbing motion. The partnership is limited 
in point of numbers to two at a time, and is formed by 
the male first clasping the female around the waist ; 
she then affectionately reposes one arm on his shoulder, 
when he, immediately seizing her disengaged hand, 
whirls her ofi" into space with astonishing rapidity, and 
their occupation commences. Their exchange is called 
the "ball-room," though why, I am unable to dis- 
cover, for the surface on which they occupy them- 
selves, so far from being round or curved like a ball, 
is unusually level, and very unlike a ball. The name, 
however, may have been appropriated on account of 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 47 

the bouncing properties of a ball, but then those would 
only apply to a ball made of some elastic substance ; 
and then again, it's tlie dancer that bounces, and not 
the room. 

I believe that Political Economy has not yet as- 
signed any rank to dancing as an employment, but it 
must eventually come under the head of " Productive 
Labor," for it is certainly productive — of muscles in 
the legs — as any one can attest for himself by j)er- 
sonaL examination, and I am inclined to believe that 
the utilitarian destiny of this art is to enlarge the 
spindle shanks of a degenerate race. How frequently, 
indeed, do we see the lamentable and distressing-look- 
ing legs of many a youth grow and expand by a judi- 
cious course of society into substantial calves, until at 
length even the owner himself becomes one grand 
calf. 

The mornings of the class " having nothing to do " 
are devoted to sleep, but they have other recreations 
and relaxations to fit them for their nightly occupa- 
tion. The principal of these are breakfast and dress- 
ing ; an hour is usually devoted to the former, for the 
delicate frame of the night-worker must be carefully 
treated — delicate tidbits to provoke the appetite are 
required, and these to be taken in minute proj^ortions 
and with tact, that the palate may be properly tickled, 
and all the sensuous emotions duly gratified. After 
breakfast is the time for scandal, this being a wonder- 
ful digestive ; and every one's character having been 



148 WRITINGS OF 

sufficiently picked to pieces, the time arrives to dress 
for dinner. Dressing for this meal occupies at least an 
hour ; the dinner takes two more, and then comes the 
drive. The drive is performed in elegant barouches, 
with the usual accompaniments — trappings, coats of 
arms, liveried coachmen, footmen, (fee, while the gap- 
ing clowns and admiring crowd minister to the vanity 
of these exotics as they recline negligently in their 
elegant equipages. On their return, they commence 
preparations for the great business of tlieir life. These 
highly concentrated essences of earth are now polished, 
plastered, moulded, and rouged by the waiting-maid 
or valet, and this task having occupied some three or 
four hours, they go to their exchange ; and the next 
day eagerly seize the morning paper to find the report 
of their proceedings. The height of their ambition is 
to be immortalized as " regal," " queenly," " elegant," 
"charming," "sweet," or "pretty," and many a heart 
has been rendered sad, almost to breaking, at finding 
no mention of its name ; so delicate is the construction 
of these creations, formed for the expressed purpose of 
" having nothing to do." 

In addition to these relaxations, common to both 
sexes of this class, the males have three others — bil- 
liards, cards, and wine. As for their vices, that of the 
women is fiirtation ; of the men, the " tiger." 

The " tiger " is an institution that ought to be 
abolished. It would be amusing to hear beardless 
boys asking one another, after the " German," if 



GEORGE POLLEN. 149 



they're "going to tight the beast to-night," if the 
question were mere bravado ; but these young scape- 
graces do actually go, and, of course, sometimes get 
fearfully bitten. Gambling, when it is pure gambling, 
is nothing more than a trial of the chances, and may, 
in fact, be reduced to a science founded on the doc- 
trine of probabilities. You make your calculations 
and depend upon chance, and so far the transaction is 
fair and honest. But gambling, as conducted at the 
dijaerent " dens," is not pure gambling, it is positively 
nothing but swindling ; so that when a man says he's 
" going to fight the beast," he speaks the literal truth. 
He descends to combat with a rascally sharper, who, 
if he sees his yictim has means, will allow him first to 
win, but pluck him in the end. I can easily under- 
stand how simpletons and boys are thus deluded, but 
what astonishes me is that men of good intelligence 
and good judgment in other respects should go and 
play the victim, and, still greater wonder ! when the 
card only tells what the "sharper" had determined 
beforehand that it should. 

It would be difficult to describe by mere words 
what a flirtation is. The French dictionaries desig- 
nate it as a moximment perpetuel^ perpetual motion, 
I suppose, and a jiirt they call une evaporee, or a 
giddy person, while the adjective for flirt, foldtre^ 
means gamesome, frolicsome, wanton. I made an 
attempt to find out what it is by personal experience, 
but the only result was that I found myself sitting on 



150 WRITINGS OF 

a piazza, away from every body else except the subject 
of my experiment ; I lieard a few iiimieaiiing words, 
saw a pair of thirsty-looking eyes, and then, feeling 
very much like a fool, proposed w^e should get up and 
take a walk, when I immediately took her back to her 
friends and made my escape, fully convinced that there 
was " nothing in it," and that there was a great deal 
more fun in smoking. Since then, however, observa- 
tion convinces me that there must be something in it, 
else it wouldn't cause so much unhai:)piness. The 
amount of it is, that the women have imbibed the 
notion from trashy foreign novels that they must have 
a lover or cavalier servant. The first thing to be 
done is to get married, the second to get a lover. 
The poor wretch of a husband, who has been dreaming 
about matrimonial felicity, suddenly finds another head 
thrust in between his and his wife's, and, having no 
ambition to w^ear the horns alone, he goes off himself 
to roam in other pastures. Of course, the home is 
unhappy, and society is the only endurable place left. 

In short, the class " having nothing to do," have 
something to do after all, paradoxical as it may seem, 
and this envied race of mortals have their troubles as 
poignant as, if not more so than, the classes which 
envy them. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 151 



EEFOEMED RAKES. 

X HE popular fallacy that " a reformed rake makes 
the best husband," is a peculiarly dangerous one on 
account of tlie predisposition of its victims. A young 
gill, naturally attracted by the tinsel and glitter of a 
rake, is very ready to avail herself of a proposition 
which reconciles her wishes with her prudence, and 
hence this pernicious maxim has caused an incalcula- 
ble amount of mischief. Even if the proposition were 
true in itself, the difficulty in finding a rake who has 
actually reformed is so great, that it becomes of no 
practical use whatever, and serves only to mislead. 
It is a very nice and subtle question whether and 
when a rake has reformed — and, indeed, a reformed 
rake is an exceedingly rara avis^ a very rare bird, 
indeed ; still, allowing its possibility, and if a girl 
must have a rake, let her be sure that he is a reformed 
one. 

But it is against all reason that a reformed rake 



152 WRITINGS OF 

should make the best husband ; if so, tlie best hus- 
bands constitute a very small class, and the majority 
of women are obliged to put up with something less 
than the best. Now, I contend that no man, to make 
the best husband, is obliged to go through a course ol 
dissipation, and that no woman is to give a preference 
over an honest man to any such rascal of a rake. It 
is perfectly absurd on the very face of it. Besides, a 
Hase^ worn-out rake, is in a very bad case physically. 
Even though the health of his soul be restored, he 
must still suffer in the body for his transgressions. 
Ko repentance can restore his body to its pristine 
state of health ; and in a hygienic point of view alone, 
he certainly is not preeminently qualiiled to promote 
the supreme happiness of either his wife or offspring. 
I must confess it is more than I can discover, in what 
respect he is superior to the man who, having lived 
virtuously and uprightly, reaps the benefits of good, 
vigorous health, brings to his wife a pure, unsullied 
affection, and is a living institution to liis children of 
the rewards and blessings consequent on a life of vir- 
tue and integrity. 

No, it is an illusion that " a reformed rake makes 
the best husband," and a young girl had better have 
nothing to do with rakes of any kind, whether in pro- 
cess of foi-mation, formed or reformed. Indeed, our 
young girls have much to answer for. If they would 
only exercise the influence they possess, there would 
be few rakes in society, and those few would be 



GEORGE POLLEN. 153 

oblio-ed to sail in under false colors, instead of dash- 
ing in openly and boldly as they now do. If every 
girl would only repel the acquaintance of every known 
dissolute man, how soon w^ould it be the fashion to be 
virtuous, sober, and manly. But, in the present state 
of society, all their influence seems to be thrown on 
the dissolute and w^orthless side ; instead of repressing, 
they seem rather to encourage the natural depravity of 
man. Place a known dashing rake by the side of a 
modest man of worth, and how soon she makes her 
choice. The rake's manner is, perhaps, more elegant 
and fascinating than that of the other — but are virtue 
and integrity to be sacrificed to a mere superficial ac- 
complishment ? To mere manner she sacrifices the 
essence of true manliness, and she is herself more than 
half to blame for the other's awkwardness. One great 
secret of manner is confidence ; and a little manage- 
ment on her part would soon convert awkwardness 
into ease ; while the despised rake, shorn of his powder, 
would shortly look ten times more crest-fallen than his 
rival did before. Yes, you young girls, you could 
fairly shame the rake out of society, if you only would. 
Why do you not ? If you could only hear how tliese 
libertines talk of you after having whirled you about 
the room in those indecent dances, now so much in 
vogue, indignant pride alone w^ould incite you to treat 
them with the scorn and contempt they so much merit. 
But you submit to their allowed embraces— at first 
with blushes, then come to like them and feel you 
20 



154 WRITINGS OF 

cannot be happy without this excitement, and finally 
become, alas ! as great rakes at heart as they are in 
practice. How can you ever expect to get good, sen- 
sible, true men for your husbands, if you keep con- 
stantly dancing yourselves out of their good graces? 
Who wants you after your bloom is gone — not the 
mere bloom of flesh and blood, but the bloom of 
modesty, the great charm of woman, the real power 
she has over every true man ? Learn, then, your real 
power, and instead of sinking yourselves to the level 
of mere rakes, perform your true destiny — that of 
elevating, refining, and ennoblmg man. Society needs 
reforming, and it is to you we look. You give it its 
tone, and it is your fault if it be vicious or frivolous. 

But if you will tolerate rakes, if you must marry 
them, then, at least, patiently endure the consequences. 
Bear as you can with your husband's flirtations with 
other women. Sit up night after night, solitary and 
alone through the long hours, waiting — his greetings 
of tipsy levities. Endure as you can the tyrannical 
usage of a selfish being accustomed to gratify each 
base passion of his nature ; but for heaven's sake de- 
scend not to follow his example. Bear the crown of 
martyrdom, but for heaven's sake add not to it the 
stigma of shame. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 155 



ARISTOCRACY. 

JLn this country, thanks to its founders, we have no 
legitimate aristocracy. By the very conditions of our 
Constitution such an order of men is impossible. Su- 
preme selfishness is not here allowed the privilege ot 
getting " the higher seats of the synagogue " through 
the mere chance of " birth ; " and this " de'il-take- 
the-hindmost " principle is not, at any rate, sanctioned 
by the Government. Indeed, were it not so, and on 
the supposition that w^e had a legitimate aristocracy, 
whence would its members derive their origin ? Our 
nation is but a little over one hundred years old, and 
that is hardly a sufficient antiquity on which to ground 
a respectable reputation for ancestry. Why, the de- 
scendant, in many cases," would have the privilege ot 
conversing with the original ancestor in the body. 
That would never do ; and if we wanted an indi- 
genous aristocracy, we would be obliged to hunt up 
an Indian pedigree. But what reasonable man could 



156 WRITINGS OF 

be rationally proud of a descent from a tattooed savage 
— a naked, painted demon, with a hatchet in one hand, 
and a tuft of feathers on his head ? A wretched object 
who rushes howling about the wiklerness like a loon 
would make a fine progenitor for some illustrious line 
of militia colonels and bogus State governors. 

We are afraid we would have to renounce the indi- 
genous aristocracy, and begin a new one cf our own. 
In fact, our true aristocracy would consist of the de- 
scendants of our revolutionary heroes. To those grand 
men do we owe our national existence, and of such an 
aristocracy no one could feel ashamed. Poor and 
humble though they may have been, still they were 
men — true, earnest, determined men ; and if we had 
such an aristocracy — one composed of men who lived 
up to the teachings, and followed the examples of such 
ancestors — we might well be proud of them. But the 
Declaration of Independence and our Constitution did 
away with all such distinctions, and the theory is that 
we have no aristocracy in this country. Yet, what is 
the ^act f It is a very lamentable one, that though 
w^e have no legitimate aristocracy, we have most de- 
cidedly a jpseudo one. 

Ridiculous, too, as it may appear, there is also a 
silent strife going on between two contending factions 
for the superiority — between what are called " the old 
Dutch families " and a class of wealthy " parvenus," 
who can trace back as far as their grandfathers. On 
analyzing their pretensions, we find that the " old 



GEORGE POLLEN. 157 

Dutch families " have an antiquity of about two hun- 
dred years on which to found their claims ; while the 
" ];)arvenus " depend on their wealth and on what they 
call their " manors " — the possession of a " manor '' 
necessarily conveying with it the possession of a man- 
ner. The '' Dutch families " being, for the most part, 
a quiet and unobtrusive class, rather have the worst of 
it ; and though we by no means intend to insinuate 
that all Dutchmen are angels, still, there is room for 
the line that " fools rush in where angels fear to 
tread," and so the " parvenus " have obtained the 
superiority of pre-occupation. That neither of these 
two classes constitute the aristocracy, is proved, and 
always will be proved, by the Constitution itself — or, 
to speak plainer, where there can be no aristocracy — 
an apophthegm which ought to satisfy even Bunsby. 

But in any other country, where aristocracy is 
allowed, they would be in a most deplorable plight. 
Two hundred years make but a small account in old 
countries, and at the beginning of that small period 
the " old Dutch families " would find only some Dutch 
burgher — a short, fat man, in small clothes, cultivating 
a cabbage garden, and with very unrefined tastes for 
bad tobacco and sour-krout. As for the " parvenus," 
a Methodist parson, in the time of the American 
Revolution, may have been a very estimable and 
worthy individual, but he could hardly flourish w^ith 
any degree of magnificence on a genealogical tree, not 
even though he may have acquired a little property 



158 WRITINGS OF 

bj fortunate speculations, nor though it may have 
increased with the progress of the country, till his 
descendants were enabled to purchase a tract of 
ground and call it a " manor " — a singular " manor," 
that, which had its origin in no tenure. As well 
miglit you call a cabbage garden or a cow pasture a 
*' manor." 

The fact is, that we have no conventional aristoc- 
racy in the country. The tnie nobilty of the Ameri- 
can is founded on his personal qualities ; and, there 
being no titles in this republic, he is, in reality, the 
peer of the proudest noble in Europe. His true 
strength lies in his maiiliness, self-reliance^ and true 
independence of character ^ in his courtesy to others 
and freedom from selfishness — all personal qualities, 
the true nobility of nature — the patent, from God, not 
from a mere mortal, of nobility. Taking this stand, 
we need not be ashamed to compare ourselves with 
other countries ; but, if we accept as our standard that 
of other nations, we must foil. At the most, we are 
but two centuries old, and then spring from the hum- 
bler classes. But we acknowledge no such test of 
superiority or antiquity : we confide only in personal 
qualities. We are not to be conquered by the mere 
chance of birth. The laborer should not hang his 
head merely because he is a laborer. Shame on the 
very thought ! He is noble for his labor. Let him 
be frank, open, and self-possessed — let him be a gentle- 
man. A man is not necessarily a gentleman, because 



I 



GEORGE POLLEN. I 59 

he has white hands and does not work in any way. 
Such a man is but an effeminate idler. The idea that 
idleness is gentility, is a false one. If it were true, we 
would acknowledge it as a truth ; but then we would 
say it were a shame to be a gentleman ; but it is false, 
and ought therefore to be rooted out. 

Let, then, the American gentleman strive no longer 
to bolster himself up with a conventional ancestry. 
Let him feel the truth that he is no mere dependant 
on a king for his gentility. Let him stand on his own 
foundation, and prove his gentility by his personal 
nobility and quiet self-respect. Such, indeed, should 
be the American gentleman — no creation of a king, 
but what he has made himself. 



l6o WRITINGS OF 



CATS. 

j_Jl_ cat, to speak categorically, is a cat^ and to speak 
zoologically, it's a felis catus. But what's a "felis 
catus f " Were I to adopt the usual dictionary treat- 
ment of most words, I would define a "felis catus " to 
be — " a cat ; " but as I wish to speak intelligibly, and 
have more respect for people's understandings than to 
consider them mere shuttlecocks, to be bandied back 
from one definition to the word they started from, I 
shall attempt to give a slight idea of what a cat really 
is. A cat, then, appears to me to be a sort of furry 
animal on four legs — that is, on two fore-legs and two 
hind-legs — having pointed ears, whiskers, a long tail, 
and any number of fleas. It is an animal of singular 
tastes, the most singular of which is that of being fond 
of a pural noun — viz., mice. It has likewise the fac- 
ulty of getting its back up. To produce this latter 
phenomenon, you have only to place the palm of your 
hand on her head, and then move it gently (not her 



GEORGE POLLEN. l6l 

head, but your hand) towards her tail. You will be 
immediately gratified with your success, and which 
will also be accompanied by a very singular noise, 
called a " purr." The cat's traits are of a decidedly 
stealthy order. Slie not only steals every thing eat- 
able that she conies across, but she has been known 
to even steal herself— out of the room on being caught 
in the act, so strangely developed is this instinct in 
this animal. When kept at bay, she screws up her 
nose, emits a sort of hissing sound, and then strikes 
out with her fore-feet, as much as to say, " Pause and 
consider." Her principal object in life appears to be 
that of getting fat ; and once attained, singular to say, 
she does not cease in her efforts, but only tries to get 
fatter. 

In short, the cat is a comfortable, luxurious animal 
that every one " ought to have in the house," espe- 
cially if there are mice around, but more especially if 
you have to lock up the house every night. What the 
locking up of a house can have to do with a cat may 
seem mysterious, yet it's an easily-explained mysteiy. 
A cat is a social animal ; it is also a comfortable-look- 
ing creature, with its soft fur and lazy eyes. Now, to 
go down into a lonesome kitchen every night, when 
every body is in bed, I consider something of a feat. 
In the first place, the door at the bottom of the 
kitchen-staircase has got to be opened ; and simple 
as that operation may appear, it is in reality a most 
formidable undertaking, particularly so if it happens 
21 



1 62 WRITINGS OF 

to be about three o'clock in the morning, with the 
servants in bed for hours, and your relatives in the 
same condition, up two or three flights of stairs. 

The idea of loneliness that you first experience, as 
you stand with your hand on the door-knob, is any 
thing but exhilarating. It is a mere idea, perhaps, 
but still one that you can't get rid of, at least, not till 
the next idea comes — that, viz., of companions. This 
is still more distressing. Surrounding space is imme- 
diately peopled with — mere ideas, perhaps, but still to 
the mind vivid realites, and of a most disagreeable 
character. Ideas of people who know no distinction 
between " meum " and " tuum," and who have no 
particular regard for your individual welfare. Reason, 
aided by the light of your lamp, soon corrects these 
illusions in a measure. You can see as far as the top 
of the stairs, and there's nobody on hand in that quar- 
ter ; but then you're at the bottom of the staircase, 
and that staircase door intercepts the rays of light in 
that direction. Perhaps but a plank intervenes be- 
tween you and — the deuce knows what. You re- 
assure yourself by saying, " Paugh ! " but though 
you've said ''paugh," still you don't open the door. 
The silence becomes still more intense — an ominous, 
foreboding silence. " What the mischief was that ? " 
You heard, perhaps, a mouse in the cupboard, yet 
you've a great mind to go up-stairs at an incredible 
rate of speed ; but you nevertheless say, " Fiddle- 
sticks ! " and instinctively feeling that suspense is 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 63 

worse tlian actual danger, boldly push open tlie door. 
It is at such a moment tliat you appreciate your cat, 
if you have one. Indeed, I know of no more re- 
assuring spectacle on such o(?casions than that of a 
comfortable-looking cat, who has been lying, perhaps 
for hours, at the foot of the staircase, patiently waiting 
a chance to get up into the dining-room. There she 
lies, the perfect picture of repose — or, if you are kind 
to her, she rises, and, after stretching herself in the 
most self-possessed manner, comes and rubs off some 
of her superfluous fur on your trowsers. This latter 
operation convinces you that she is no spectral cat, 
and the mind is thus both soothed and diverted. 
You have now only to pat her gently on the head 
and say, " Poor pussy," and a community of feeling 
is immediately established. She relinquishes all ideas 
of the dining-room, follows you about as you look to see 
that all is safe ; and, to bid her " good-night," all you 
have to say is " Scat ! " and off she goes witli a bound. 
On the whole, I think every body ought to have a 
cat in the house, and they ought, moreover, to treat 
her kindly. Poor puss has been hitherto a very much 
neglected member of the community, and prompt 
measures should be taken for the amelioration of her 
condition. " Every dog has his day," and I'm sure I 
can see no reason why the same sentence should not 
apply to puss. 



164 WRITINGS OF 



^ 



FITZJONES JONES. 

A SKETCH. 

Jj ITZJ0NE8 Jones made his first appearance in public 
life at a " select infant schol." His aunt is. to this 
day, very fond of relating tliat he was such a pest at 
home that they sent him to school at the early age of 
eighteen months, and how that he was such a pest at 
school that his teacher sent him home again before he 
had been there two hours. The consequence was, 
that a private tutor was procured, and Fitzjones was 
rapidly advanced in the mathematics and classics. At 
the age of ten years, however, he was still an inhabit- 
ant of the nursery — a circumstance that so galled his 
aspiring soul, that he actually conceived the idea of 
making a felo-de-se of himself for the express purpose 
of getting more enlarged views than the nursery win- 
dow afforded. His reason, however, overpowered the 
curiosity of his inquiring mind ; for having learned that 



GEORGE POLLEN. 165 

his body, after death, would be placed in the ground, 
there to become the prey of worms, he naturally con- 
cluded that the space to move about in would be still 
more restricted there than in the nursery, and that it 
was infinitely preferable to resist the encroachments of 
'' worms," while livhig, than to be their passive victim 
when dead ; so Jones lived. Still, he did not remit his 
endeavors to get into society, and dreams of freedom 
from the restraints of the nursery continually occupied 
his imagination. The time at length came for Fitzjones 
to go to college ; and after "four years of indescribable 
mental torture," as he always designated his collegiate 
experience, he was released — and went into society. 

It is hardly necessary to state that Fitzjones Jones 
was disappointed. That state of freedom so eagerly 
longed for, proved in reality to be a state of boredom. 
Jones was astonished. He had read of the ease and 
polish of refined society, of its gaieties, and of its 
innumerable fascinations. Those fascinations were 
certainly innumerable, for Jones couldn't find one to 
count. Its well-bred polish and ease proved to be 
only varnished stiffness. As for its gaieties ? Fitz- 
jones, as he asked himself this question, felt that he 
had smiled for the first time since he had gone into 
society. There is something in the word " gaieties," 
of itself, suggestive of smiling, but Jones felt that he 
smiled at the ridiculous incongruity of the word as 
applied to gaiety. " Can such things be ? " thought 
Jones. " I am more suirounded by conventionalities, 



1 66 WRITINGS OF 

I am more hemmed in, more restricted, than I ever 
was in the nursery. There must be some mistake ; 
and this cannot be the best society in which I move." 
Jones prosecuted diligent inquiries on this subject, 
but the result was, there was no mistake — Jones did 
move in the " best society." But Jones had a hberal 
and inquiring mind, and a fearless, independent spirit. 
The consequence was, that the platitudes of society 
bored him, and their restraints disconcerted him. He 
was always " doing something vulgar " — as, for in- 
stance, he would express his honest opinions, and 
would speak to estimable i)ersons in the street, even 
if they did happen to be poorly dressed. Jones was 
indubitably wrong. It is the coat which makes the 
man, not the man the coat ; and it is the man's coat 
which ought to be talked to, not the man in the coat. 
Society was right, and the result was that Jones, 
being incorrigible, found himself put down, ignored — 
in short, annihilated. Singular to say, this did not 
annoy him in the least — on the contrary, he found in 
it matter for congratulation, for " as birds of a feather 
flock together," Jones, being no longer of that flock, 
was no longer a bird of that feather ; and as he had 
found them to be nothing but feather, he was very 
well content not to rank in any such category. He 
also had the sense not to become declamatory and 
demonstrative on the subject, but quietly rose (fell ?) 
into the sphere appointed him by nature. '' Why, 
indeed ? " said he, " should 1 interfere with these peo- 



1 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 67 

pie ? Let them enjoy themselves in their way : I will 
do so in mine. It is all well enough, perhaps. Peo- 
ple who can neither think nor talk, must nevertheless 
do something ; and, if they can do nothing else, there 
is no reason why they shouldn't pass their time in 
dressing and inventing new fashions of clothes, in 
dancing and getting warm, and even uncomfortable, 
since they enjoy it, in crowded rooms." To be sure, 
it seemed a singular way of enjoying oneself to Jones ; 
but then, as he said, " Monkeys take delight in scratch- 
ing themselves raw, parrots in unintelligible screeches, 
peacocks in exhibiting their feathers, jackdaws in bor- 
rowed plumes, &c., &c., and why should I interfere 
and dictate how they should enjoy themselves." So 
Fitzjones quietly withdrew from society, and, in the 
company of his books and a few congenial friends, 
enjoyed himself in his own way. 

As his knowledge increased, however, his desire 
for more enlarged points of view also increased ; so 
he went " abroad." Among other inquiries, he sought 
the type in the " old country " of " our best society " 
at home, and he found it. He found it in England, 
among the " middling classes." There was the same 
punctilious regard for conventionalities— the same 
formal, varnished stiffness— the same old boredom. 

When Jones returned again to his native land to 
see his old friends and renew old associations, he re- 
turned with all the eclat of having been " abroad," and 
was again invited into "society." Jones, however. 



l68 WRITINGS OF 

mentioned none of his experience, but, at the same 
time, politely declined the honors showered upon him. 
He passed tlie remainder of his days among liis old 
friends, leading the quiet life of a " man of letters," 
and finally did what all, high or low, must do at some 
period or other — he died. 



GEORGE POLLEN. I 69 



BABIES. 

JVlLartin Fakqchar Tupper, in his " Proverbial Phi- 
losophy " {a7i imjposing citation^ hy the hy), saith that 
" A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure." 
Had he said his babe, it might have been true ; but 
a hale includes the babe as a race. I deny, most posi- 
tively and im qualified ly, that my babe is a well-spring 
of pleasure. To be sure, he's got enough spring in 
him, but then again he's never well — at least so my 
wife says ; and, indeed, she accounts for his numerous 
little eccentricities by the pathetic appeal of " Baby's 
so sick ! " — and so am I. If ever I were sick of any 
thing in this world, it's of that confounded baby of 
mine. There he sits, staring at me now with his 
vacant eyes — a perfect well-spring of slobber and 
inarti('ulate sounds. Put him in the crib, and he's 
perpetually crying ; and if he falls out of it, he only 
cries the more. He's never contented, either with his 

lot or his cot. 

22 



170 WRITINGS OF 

My only consolation is in his future growth. Not- 
withstanding lie's all (jroan now. They say that when 
he's grown np, he'll be more pacific in his tendencies ; 
that he Avon't have so many colics, and that 1 won't 
have so many sleepless nights. But, in the interim, 
while the baby's growing, what am I to do ? Am I 
to be sacrificed to his necessity of growth ? Is there 
no hot-house bed, where he may be forced into length, 
in place of cribs, where he can't be forced into supine- 
ness ? If he were a girl, I'd make him " a daughter 
of the regiment," but, being a boy, that, of course, is 
impossible. Every morning that boy wakes me up at 
four o'clock, by sticking his finger in my eye. If I 
spank him for it, he cries ; but if I don't, he sits on my 
breast, grinning like a young hyena, shouts "Papa," 
and then makes a dive for my nose. After sufficiently 
recreating himself in this pastime, he generally wdnds 
up by pulling my hair out by the roots, and — I spank 
him ; for there's a limit to human endurance. His 
mother, so far from being my ally, smothers him with 
kisses, and tells me I am " so cruel ! " When I was a 
bachelor, I used to smash the flies that bothered me in 
the morning, and this human fly I only spank ; yet am 
I condemned by its mother, who hugs the squalling 
brat, and delivers herself of an idiotic address to the 
infant, the burden of which is, " Naughty papa ! Did 
a naughty papa 'hip 'e 'ittle baby ? Naughty papa ! 
S'all mamma 'hip naughty papa ? " wdth similar inter- 
esting interrogatories in a similar dialect. A pretty 



GEORGE POLLEN. 171 

example that to set before a cliild ! Bali ! I'm sick 
of " 'e 'ittle baby." One day he falls down-stairs, 
another day he swallows a pin ; sometimes he's got 
the measles, sometimes the scarlet fever, and some- 
times the mumps. At present, he's in daily expecta- 
tion of the whooping-cough. What a hullaballoo we'll 
have then ! Not content with whooping all through 
his hitherto short career, he intends to introduce a 
cough — probably a hollow, reverberating cough. A 
horrible idea suggests itself. Could I ever have been 
a baby ? could I ever have gone through a course of 
sprouts f There's one thing certain, Fm going through 
a course of them now. Happy, indeed, the lot of the 
bachelor, whose second childhood is postponed to a 
later period of his existence ! whereas, the married 
man endures a second childhood in his pi-ime ; and 
may all bachelors take warning by me, and, in shun- 
ning the Chary bdis of single life, not run upon the 
Scylla (silly) alternative of marriage. 



172 WRITINGS OF 



MY WATCH. 

JL HAVE a watch, or rather a watch-case — 

For what's a watch with no regard for time ? 

What good's a watch that goes but when it wills ? 

Not much, I think. 'Tis true, it may be good 

For ornament, if that it be of gold. 

As my watch is ; and hath a pictured face, 

As my watch hath — though 'tis a lying face 

With lying hands, which point to lying hours. 

Sometimes, beguiled by this same lying watch. 

With its fair face and lying, slender hands, 

I up do rise, thinking it's breakfast-time, 

To find that I am full two hours too soon, 

And yet not full inside, but very gaunt. 

For that's an empty, weary time to wait. 

That doth precede the hour of breakfasting. 

Again, deceived by this infernal watch, 

I lie in bed too long, and then I rise 

To find a scolding wife, and coffee cold. 

And yet 'tis I who always bear the blame — 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 73 

The lying, ticking watch gets off scot-free. 

How frequent this the case o'er all the world — 

The smooth-faced, lying cheat goes still " on tic," 

While his unwilling tool bears all the blame. 

My watch has an escapement called " duplex ; " 

'Tis true, for it's duplicity itself, 

And doth escape from punishment deserved. 

Besides, its golden case, eight jewels, too ; 

And yet this watch is never up to time ; 

But, when the right time comes, wants more or less, 

And all the compensation that I get, 

Is " compensation-balance," as 'tis called. 

And so my watch, as 'tis a lying watch, 

A lying " compensation-balance " gives. 

It's but a watch that's only fit for show. 

For those to wear who lead an idle life ; 

But as for me, who am no idle man, 

An idle watch is but an idle thing, 

And I would gladly give this watch away 

For what I gave for it — indeed I would. 

And if there any be who stand in need 

Of such a watch, to merely wear for show. 

Why, I will gladly part with it to him. 

And give him what he wants and what I don't. 



174 WRITINGS OF 



AUTOBIOGKAPHY OF ONE FKITZ. 



W: 



HETHER I ought to wi'ite my autobiography may 
be a question ; but there is one thing certain, to make 
it my Hutobiogaphy, I ought to write it myself, and, 
as this is my autobiography, I now begin it with the 
letter I. 

I was born at a very minute period of this world's 
history : it being now over six hundred thousand 
minutes since I first saw the light, and having been 
fourteen thousand minutes in existence previous to 
witnessing that phenomenon, I have now consequently 
attained the very respectable age of six hundred and 
fourteen thousand minutes. I have no recollection of 
either my father or mother, having been removed from 
their protecting care several thousand minutes before 
I opened my eyes, so that, should I ever meet with 
them again, I could not, of course, very well recognize 
them. I have every reason to believe, however, that 
I am of a good family ; for, notwithstanding my ad- 



GEORGE POLLEN. I 75 

vanced age, I am exceedingly small, am beautifully 
formed, and, what is the most indubitable proof of all, 
I possess a set of nerves which keep me constantly on 
the verge of distraction. The least noise — from the 
creaking of a boot to the dropping of a pin — will so 
disturb and shatter my entire nervous system, that it 
takes whole minutes, and numbers of them, too, for me 
to recover my equanimity. Indeed, I am finer bred 
than I want to be, and would give any thing to be less 
of a gentleman than I am. As for my complexion, 

" I am neither a white, black, nor yellow man, 
But a sort of a mixture of black and tan." 

Yet I am neither a Hottentot, nor a Kamtchatkan, 
nor a Caffir savage, nor am I a Calmuck Tartar ; and 
though very fond of rats and puppies, still I am 
no Chinaman. I certainly am no Patagonian ; and, 
though not from Lilliput, still I might be called a 
lilliputian. In short, I am small, well-bred, and of a 
black-and-tan color. 

As I have already said, I was taken from my 
parents at an early age. When I first saw the light, it 
was very much modified by coming through the win- 
dow of a stable. Yes, well-bred as I am, I first saw 
the light in a stable ; and every one who has ever seen 
the windows of a stable can readily imagine how light 
may be modified in passing through such a medium. 
The first thing I did was to whimper, and the first 
words I ever heard were, " Come, now, dry up." Not 



176 WRITINGS OF 

being as yet very well versed in the English tongue, I 
did not " dry up," and the first thing I felt was what 
I afterwards learned to be " a crack on the head." 
This being repeated at intervals, 1 soon practically 
learned the meaning of the imperative mood of the 
verb " to diy up," as well as one of its past tenses, 
*' having dried up." I remained in this stable during 
what then appeared to me to be an eternity, but which 
I have since found out was but a portion of my time, 
viz., about fifteen hundred minutes. Par parenthesis, 
being minute myself, it will be easily understood that 
all my ideas of time are likewise minute. 

One minute, a gentleman came to buy a very 
" small dog " for a lady. I was immediately pulled 
out by the nape of my neck, and thus received my 
first intimation that I was a " very small dog," though 
since then I have had only too frequent intimations of 
the fact. I was then carefully wrapped up and given 
to the gentleman, who carried me to his house. On 
arriving there, I was uncovered, and, before I had 
time to look about me, I heard a great many voices, 
all crying out at once, " Oh, do let me see him ! " 
'' Oh, the dear little fellow ! " " Oh, the dear little 
pet ! " " Oh, isn't he sweet ! " " Oh, you dear little 
duckey ! " " Oh, you dear little dovey ! " and, at the 
same time, felt myself pounced upon and kii^sed, and 
pulled here and pulled there ; and, what with " Oh "*- 
ings, and the kissings and the pullings, my nervous 
system completely gave up the ghost, and ofl' 1 went 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 7 7 

in what I have smce learned to be a " fit." When I 
recovered, I found myself lyhig snngly wrapped np in 
cotton, and, on raising my head, I heard a gentle 
voice say, " Hush-sh-sh-sh ! " Tliis mysterious noise 
nearly set me off again ; bat its genthj tone reassui-ed 
me, and by degrees I was enabled to receive all the 
little endearments that were lavished upon me, though 
to this day I am in considerable doubt as to whether 
I'm a " diickey " or a " dovey." It makes little difit:r- 
ence, however, what I am, for up to the present hour 
I have had a very pleasant time of it. To be snre, I 
have occasionally suffered from colics, after a surfeit of 
rich cakes and sweetmeats, and am supplied at inter- 
vals with a most odious and disgusting mess of what is 
called " castor oil," and which, though I invariably 
refuse it, am obliged, for some reason or other, to swal- 
low nolens volens. But these are petty grievances to 
what I now endure, and my life, on the whole, has 
been, I consider, a very prosperous one. But now 
comes my iirst and real grief. I was jumping from a 
chair, only about a thousand minutes ago, when, my 
foot catching, I fell over, and broke my leg just above 
the knee. Since then I have suffered the most incon- 
ceivable ennui, and arising from a variety of circum- 
stances. In the first place, my young mistress would 
not consent to leave me to the care of Nature, but has 
had, by our old family doctor, my poor leg encased in 
cardboard, and bound around with sticking-plaster, 
the very smell of which makes me sick. In the second 
23 



178 WRITINGS OF 

place, slie don't j^et me as niiicli as usual, for fear of 
hui-ting my leg. In the third place, I don't get any 
more cakes or sweetmeats ; and, in the fourth place, 
they keep me still all the time, and won't let me move 
about — altogether a state of affairs entirely obnoxious 
to ray disposition. It is bad enough to have only three 
legs to run about on ; but not to have the use of any, 
is perfect torment ; and then, w^henever I sat up, to 
have one leg constantly sticking out, as though I were 
making a speech. Oh, it was too much ! The conse- 
quence w^as, that I got " obstropolous," wouldn't keep 
quiet, and was finally clapped into a box called my 
" house." I was immui'ed in this box a whole night, 
and spent the time in alternately howding and bump- 
ing my head in trying to get out, until finally, ex- 
hausted, I fell asleep. On waking in the morning, my 
feelings were any thing but satisfactory. In my efibi-ts 
to get out I had scraped the skin off my nose, and had 
raised the most frightful phrenological developments on 
my head. The bump of meekness, in particular, seems 
to have been extensivt^ly enlarged, for since then I 
have felt very much subdued and more tranquil. I 
still suffer from ennui^ a sore nose, and a headache, 
but I have obtained a more philosophic frame of mind. 
I pass my time in meditating on the instability of 
black-and-tan terriers' legs, and, after much reflection, 
have come to the conclusion that I still prefer cake and 
sweetmeats to mush and milk, and most sincerely hope 
I may never break my leg again. Fritz. 



GEORGE rOLLEN. 1 79 



TEN THOUSAND MINUTES AFTER. 

-Deing a heading after Dumas' friencTs "Twenty 
Years After," and a sequel to tlie " Autobiography of 
Our Fritz," or, in otlier words, a sequel to a sequel — 
for what is the sequel of a dog but his tail, and what 
was the " Autobiography of Our Fritz " but the tale 
of a dog ? 

Time is a singular institution, and so is ether ; but 
what either tune or ether can have to do with my auto- 
biography may seem equally singular, so I must ex- 
plain. Time I consider a singular article in respect to 
its products, or what it may bring forth. For in- 
stance : I had obtained a very philosophical frame of 
mind about ten thousand minutes ago, and wliich I 
had resolved to preserve — indeed, it was the only pre- 
serve allowed me, sweetmeats having been prohibited. 
Yet, in spite of my resolution, that modifymg agent of 
Time must come in and destroy all my calculations ; 
for only five thousand mmutes after I had made them, 



l8o WRITINGS OF 

the J were all brought to naught (0) — though I still 
continued to ^' cany one" {id est^ broken leg). Five 
thousand minutes of time brouiJ:ht that confounded 
surgeon, whom I never see without experiencing a 
sinking sensation, precisely as though I was utterly 
gone and most completely done for. On this occasion, 
however, I had no sooner sunk away into annihilation, 
til an I was immediately brought to by seeing his 
basilisk eye fixed on my broken leg. I heard him say, 
" It must be re-set." 1 rallied, gave a feeble yell of 
defiance, and then made ofi* as fast as my three legs 
would carry me. Alas ! the door was shut. I then 
slunk under the sofa, put my tail between my legs, 
dropped my ears, and strove to make myself invisible. 
It was useless. His infernal glance followed me every- 
where ; his eye became microscopic, and seemed to 
magnify me. I felt that I was growing larger and 
larger, until I seemed to monopolize the whole room. 
Tliree of the mercenaries now arrived. I howled and 
yelled, but my howls and yells fell only on my own 
ear. I was surrounded and pounced on by about forty 
fingers, was carried up-stairs iuto a sort of a cock- 
loft, and then laid on a table. I looked beseechingly 
towards my young mistress, but she w^as immediately 
requested to take her departure, and— she made it. 
Forty fingers now seemed to be ubiquitous. I saw 
cardboard cut up without the slightest compunction. 
Sticking-plaster in profusion followed the same fate. 
A quantity of paste was brought in a saucer, and then 



GEORGE POLLEN. l8l 

eiglit eyes were turned on me. There was a low, mut- 
tering consultation, and I felt that there was a con- 
spiracy against me. The next moment I was placed 
howling on a batt of cotton, and then I smelt one of 
the most disagreeable smells I ever smelt in my life. 
I had hardly commenced to wonder what it could pos- 
sibly be, when I felt a towel clapped over my nose, 
and discovered, to my disgust, that I had tlie most full 
and ample opportunities of gratifying my curiosity. I 
howled and yelled, and yelled and howled, but I 
couldn't escape that smell. It seemed to penetrate my 
very bones, and I felt it to the very tip end of my tail. 
It got into my brain, and whirled through it with a 
perfect looseness — through cerebrum and cerebellum, 
and cerebellum and cerebrum — until I finally lost all 
consciousness. When I came to life again, I was 
gnashing my teeth, and there was that infernal smell 
again. It positively seemed to pervade me. I gasped 
and choked, and bit my tongue. Cold water was 
thrown in my face, and it was some time before I 
again recovered the use of my senses. I was then 
taken to my mistress, and she who used to call me her 
" beauty," now saw me with my hair on end, my eyes 
sticking out of my head, and my mouth covered with 
froth. I was washed and soothed and petted. The 
smell finally left me, and then I learned that it was — 
ether. 

One of the most singular efiects of this ether is, 
that my leg, which was nearly free from that odious 



1 82 WRITINGS OF 

bandage, is now as stiff as a poker, and so hidden in 
cardboard and plaster tliat it is completely invisible. 
The doctor, too, says it mnst remain so for six weeks. 
Alas ! I am a prey to the most melancholy reflections ; 
for I feel that I shall carry all this cardboard to the 
grave with me, and shall never see my poor leg again ! 
Six weeks ! Over sixty thousand minutes ! I feel 
perfectly convinced that ether is a most atrocious 
scoundrel of the lowest order, yet can wish him no 
worse punishment than that of being cognizant of his 
own smell. 

Fkitz. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 83 



CITY GOVERNMENT AND ELECTIONS. 

1858. 

J^ ow that tlie election is over, I should like to offer 
a few suggestions. One of them, perhaps, is, in a 
measure, prophetical, and with that one I begin. 

The Republican party has succeeded, but what will 
it gain ? Nothing ! — that is, nothing of its professed 
object. The object of that party, I believe, is Re- 
form ! Please mark my words — There will le no 
refomi ! 

Another suggestion is, that it is not so much a 
change of men in office that we want, as a change of 
system. A change of men will produce no more eifect 
with our rotten system, than would the substitution of 
an honest, faithful engineer for an inefficient one in the 
charge of a rotten boiler. Indeed, the effisct would be 
very similar in either case. The good engineer would 
be blown up with the rotten boiler, and the good poli- 



184 WRITINGS OK 

tician will be blown up with the rotten system. So I 
would suggest that w^e reform the system^ though I 
would by no means be supposed to consider the latter 
suggestion as at all prophetical. No, sir ; the good 
time may be coming, but it is not quite yet. 

I will wind up what you may call these very ex- 
traordinary suggestions by one perhaps still more ex- 
traordinary, to wit: That all quiet, respectable citi- 
zens should for a future (at present) indefinite period 
waive their right of voting. In other words, not vote 
at all. The effect of this will be, that the scoundrels 
will have the absolute power. The boil will come to a 
head, and, to follow up this rather inelegant simile, we 
will then get at the core of the matter. 

It seems to require a great pressure to rouse us 
from our lethargy. All the pressures hitherto brought 
to bear have proved utterly ineffectual. But I am still 
in hopes that good, vigorous treatment may remove 
the disease, and I can conceive of none that would 
prove so effective as an old-fashioned, lond fide 
anarchy. 



GEORGE POLLEN. I 85 



ON DUELLING. 

V_/F all the detestable and abhorrerit practices that dis- 
grace the annals of civilized man, duelling is the most 
absurd and unnecessary. Founded as it is on a mean 
sentiment of revenge, and only sustained by a false 
code of honor, there is not a single word that can be 
said in its favor. It can only be looked upon as 
a device of the devil's — a most exquisite piece of 
mechanism invented by him, and the greatest triumph 
of which is to inflame the pettiest misunderstanding 
into one of the greatest crimes — viz., that of lifting 
one's hand against the life of a fellow-being. 

A man has his toes trodden oji, or his nose pulled. 
" Whew ! " says he, " that man trod on my toes. 
Whew ! I must have satisfaction." He goes home, 
strikes himself on the chest, and indites a formidable 
letter, called a " challenge." He then involves a 
friend in the difficulty, and the missive reaches the 
offending party. That individual occupies a comj)ara- 

24: 



lS6 WRITINGS OF 

tively pleasant position in the whole affair. He hii 
committed the offence in the first instance, and he now 
has the privilege of choosing whatever mode of satis- 
faction he pleases. He has, in fact, the choice of every 
thing — choice of weapons, of time, and of place. He 
reads the challenge, liglits a cigar, and then, compla- 
cently stretching himself on a lounge, quietly considers 
wliat weapon lie is most expert in — whether pistols, 
rifles, small-swords, bowie-knives, or harpoons, if he 
chooses. He makes his choice deliberately, makes up 
his mind deliberately, picks his teeth deliberately, and 
then goes out and deliberately picks down his man. 

The offended party, who had his toes trodden on, 
has meanwhile gone through a course of correspond- 
ence which of itself must have been a great bore, and 
is ultimately carried off the field with his honor ap- 
peased, and a mark carved on him to commemorate 
the fact, having had his head hacked with a broad- 
sword, or a hole drilled in him with a pistol-ball, or 
been harpooned — his sole consolation being that he's 
had '' satisfaction." He has certainly had a variety 
of experience, and very evidently quite enough of it ; 
but what bothers us is, in which of these experiences 
he found the " satisfaction." Tlie dictionary says that 
a duellist is '' a single combat." We should say he's 
a born fool. Tiie word " courage," too, is frequently 
used in connection with " duelling." There can be no 
doubt that the majority of duels are fought, not so 
much on the essential jjriiiciple of the duel, for retalia- 



GEORGE POLLEN. 187 

tion, as from the mere fear of appearances — the fear 
of being considered a coward. But what is this in 
itself but sheer cowardice — the fear of what a miser- 
able mortal like ourselves may say of us ? Duelling is 
indeed no test of courage. Know^n cowards have stood 
the duellist's fire ; and the Christian martyrs who were 
consumed by a more dreadful fire at the stake, could 
hardly have been wanting in courage, even though 
they would have undoubtedly declined a " challenge." 

The whole amount of it is, that in the universe of 
letters there cannot be found so much irony embodied 
in so few words as in that short epistle called a " chal- 
lenge ; " and both he who sends and he w^lio accepts 
one are equally entitled to the name of " idiot." 



1 88 WRITINGS OF 



WHAT IS FRIENDLINESS? 

-De friendly with every one," is the advice of 
Michael Angelo Titraarsli, in one of his admirable 
papers ; but is given as the politic advice of a man of 
the world, and we wonld humbly add : Be so, but not 
superficially ; be so in earnest. There is nothing more 
wearying and unsatisfying than the man who sports an 
eternal superficial smile for every one's benefit ; that 
man who shakes your hand with apparent heartiness, 
when you feel tlie whole time that there is not a parti- 
cle of lieart in it, and shows by his self-complacency 
that he knows he is a good-hearted fellow, and believes 
tliat you think so too. Such a man is mere pretence 
and humbug, and such a fi-iendliness is dishonesty. 
But the real, earnest friendliness which we should feel 
for every one, springs from the heart, and is founded 
on a deep and kindly sympathy for others. It says. 
Every man is a being like myself; not so much be- 
cause he has bones, flesh, hair, &c., like myself, as 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 89 

because he has feelings — because he may feel badly if 
I act unkindly, like a fool, or pleasantly, if I act 
kindly, like a true, sympathizing man. 

The simple sentence, " Love your neighbor as your- 
self," engraved in the heart, and governing the actions, 
is worth all the books of morality put together. It 
contains the pith and essence of them all. One would 
suppose, to see the way in which men act towards one 
another, that there was some great distinction between 
them which necessarily separated them ; but there is 
no distinction between men which can have any thing 
to do with the heart, for that is common to all, high or 
low, rich or poor, with big brains or little brains. It 
is the common ground on which humanity meets ; it is 
universal, and one of the most glorious privileges of 
our nature. And yet, how this grand universal tie of 
humanity is disregarded ! How it is modified, and in 
some cases entirely altered, by petty conventional dis- 
tinctions ! 

The rich, the high-born, and the intellectual (of 
course with some noble exceptions), look down upon 
their poorer, humbler, or less gifted brethren as from 
an eminence, and as though their notice of them was a 
favor bestowed by some superior being. You short- 
lived, absurd mortals, by what authority other than 
your own arrogance are you on any such eminence ? 
Are you so blinded by your own miserable self-conceit 
that you cannot see that you are on no eminence what- 
ever ? — that, whatever you may be, you are but tilling 



IQO WRITINGS OF 

the part assigned you by tlie Great Being who created 
you ? You may be the brains, the blood, and the liver 
of the body politic ; but what, after all, could you 
effect without its hands and sinews ? What would you 
be but a starving, stumpless excrescence ? No, every 
man has his part to perform ; but it is only as a mem- 
ber of the whole, and the heart is common to all. 
Therefore, do not forget that though you hcijppen^ as 
far as yourself is concerned, to occupy the position of 
a superior member — do not forget, we say, that the 
other members have feelings likewise, and that the 
same heart beats for all. Be friendly and kind to one 
another in real earnest. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 19I 



THE REFORMATION OF CRIMINALS. 

VV E confess to no maudlin sympathy for criminals 
as criminals. We do not even consider them as in- 
jured members of the community, and we utterly 
ignore all connection with those miserable pseudo- 
pliihinthropists whose sole aim seems to be the remis- 
sion of the criminal's just punishment, to the total 
defeat of the ends of justice. Indeed, we would not 
trust ourselves in a menagerie with such philanthro- 
pists. We should be on pins and needles the whole 
time, lest they might uncage the whole troupe — "just 
to let the poor things have their freedom." 

But though we do not consider criminals as either 
angels or persecuted specimens of humanity, still we 
do believe them to be human beings — not desperate 
devils past recall. They are erring human beings, 
who, having violated the laws of the community, must 
suffer the penalty of such violation. They should most 
assuredly be punished. It is due to the community 



192 WRITINGS OF 

that they should be. Indeed, the most obvious way of 
preventing the increase of crime is, punishment of the 
offender. But thougli we acknowledge tlie justice and 
necessity of punishing the criminal, as well as its bene- 
hcial influences both on him and on society, still we 
do not consider it sufficient. There is something more 
to be done. Another influence must be brought in to 
complete the work, and that influem^e consists in the 
reformation of the criminal after punishment. 

That such an agent is a powerful one in preventing 
the increase of crime, cannot for a moment be dis- 
puted. Why, then, does it not receive the attention it 
merits ? The only reason that we can discover for this 
neglect is, that man, as a general rule, is satisfied to 
look no further than to proximate causes. The fear of 
punishment is a proximate cause to deter from the 
commission of crime, and this engine of fear is readily 
employed, and very rightly, too. The more subtle 
influence of after-reformation is neglected. But vice 
should be attacked at every available point, and subtle 
influences are often more efficacious than obvious 
ones — in fact, are often the real governing powers. 
Tlie great thing is, to strike at the root of the matter. 
You may cut down a tree again and again, and it will 
grow again and again ; but if you strike at its root 
and eradicate it, the thing is done at once : and so it is 
with the criminal ; strike at the root and reform him, 
and you will abolish crime in the proportion to the 
number you reform. We would by no means advocate 



GEORGE POLLEN. 1 93 

the adoption of the one measure to the exclusion of the 
other ; but, on the contrary, that every means should 
be employed against crime, against which, indeed, not 
one stone should be left unturned that can be of any 
avail to subdue it. Put criminals in prison, and pun- 
ish them ; but also put in motion the engine to prevent 
their being criminals any longer. Attempt their refor- 
mation. The commission of crime undoubtedly weak- 
ens a man's moral nature, and he becomes more liable 
to a relapse ; but we believe that his moral nature 
may be strengthened in the same way as his physical 
nature. It only wants aid to assist it, till sufficient 
strength is obtained to be able to resist of itself. 

A criminal fresh from prison, and having experi- 
enced the disagreeable effects of crime, is in a measure 
prepared to lend a willing ear to suggestions of reform ; 
and we have no doubt that, if there be a chance for 
him to become honest, he will do so in preference. 
One great reason why a criminal goes on in his hard- 
ened career is, because he sees no other career before 
him. He feels that the avenues of honest industry are 
closed to him. He feels, perhaps, that if he but had a 
chance, he would lead a better life. But he has not 
the chance ; and so this very cutting off of his chances 
only confirms him in his evil courses, and he yields 
again to the first temptation that offers. Were his 
reformation merely a slender thread of hope, yet ought 
every truly benevolent man to seize upon it — every 
true man who really has the interests of a fellow-being 
26 



194 WRITINGS OF 

at heart. It is here, indeed, that the philanthropist 
ought to make his appearance, not before the criminal 
has been checked in his progress of crime, not when 
he is callous and triumphant, but after he has been 
subdued bj punishment. First punish, then reform 
him. Give him the medicine of suffering, but also 
give him, when convalescent, the tonics of hope and 
encouragement. You mav cure a man of a cold by 
soaking his feet in hot w^ater ; that is, if you nurse 
him, and take care that he does not expose himself 
afterwards ; but 3'ou'Il hardly do it, if yon thrust him 
out into the w^et immediately. No, the morally sick 
man w^ants a rigid course of punishment ; but then he 
also wants gentle and judicious treatment afterwards. 
It would, of course, be absurd, and contrary to all com- 
mon sense, for every man indiscriminately to under- 
take the treatment of a criminal just out of jail. But 
there should be an institution established to act medi- 
ately for the encouragement of all criminals who give 
tokens of a wish to reform ; and were such an institu- 
tion well supported, whether by the State or by pri- 
vate contributions, there can be no doubt but it would 
sensibly and materially diminish the amount of crime. 

If, then, to rescue a fellows-being from the abyss of 
crime — if to win the prayers and heartfelt affection of 
parents or children of reformed criminals be not suffi- 
cient stimulus to the philanthropist, let us remember 
that, even according to the doctrine of expediency, we 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



195 



ought to attempt the reformation of criminals. Our 
course to pursue is simple and clear: First, let us 
employ the preparative process of punishment ; but, 
secondly, the curative process of reformation. 



196 WRITINGS OF 



OUR STREET, OR THE SACREDNESS OF 
HOME. 

V-/UR street is a short one — indeed, it is only a block 
long ; but, short as it is, there seems to be a long and 
heavy curse resting upon it. On your very first en- 
trance into it you feel conscious of an oppressive feeling. 
It seems to lie, as it were, in a vale. You can almost 
detect the deadly odor of the Upas tree, and you are 
involuntarily reminded of " the valley of the shadow 
of death." Our street is narrow and low, and the 
houses on either side are very high, and look like bar- 
ricades, expressly designed to shut out the fresh air and 
light. A settled gloom ever rests over it. You can 
see, in fact, that it is doomed. Even before civiliza- 
tion paved and peopled it, you feel that it must have 
been an accursed place. It must have been low, 
marshy ground, choked up with cat-tails, and over- 
looked and hidden by a dense forest of tall trees. It 
must have been the " Murderer's Swamp," or " Spook's 



(JEORGE POLLEN. 1 97 

Hollow," or the " Devil's Eetreat '' — a natural hiding- 
place for skunks and villains, the perfect paradise of 
wretches. And now that it is built up, and omnibuses 
run through it, it is in no wise improved. There is 
more villany, more misery, and more death in our 
little street than in any other ten times its length. 

]N"early all of the houses are inhabited, tbougli most 
of them have bills of " To Let " or " For Sale " on 
them ; and there is hardly a day passes but a new 
crape, telling of a death, makes its appearance on a 
bell-pull. Sometimes we are all aroused in the middle 
of the night by the most dreadful cries, screams, and 
groans, but are unable to discover their canse. One 
day a rape is committed, another a little girl is burned 
to death, and there are frequent elopements out of it. 
The only resident who appears to be in any way con- 
tented with it is a pirate — a strange, moody man, who 
seldom makes his appearance, and, when he does, 
always reminds us of those lonely, gloomy birds of 
prey who are ever seeking the lowliest and gloomiest 
of places, and who delight only in darkness. The 
gloom which hangs over him does not seem to be occa- 
sioned by the reflection or influence of the street. He 
is shrouded in it as if it were his natural condition, and 
the gloom of the street only seems congenial to him. 

Intrigues and brawls, pride, vice, and folly, consti- 
tute the life in our street ; while the frequent hearses 
give evidence of the deaths in it. The very dogs and 
cats are aflfected by it ; the dogs howl all night, and 



198 WRITINGS OF 

the cats are continually fighting. The houses them- 
selves have a mysterious look, and lower upon you 
with their heavy, sullen verandahs ; w^hile the few trees 
which do not refuse to live in it look withered and 
forlorn. 

But home is home, " be it ever so humble," and in 
our street is our home. The true spirit of home lies in 
its being a sacred institution. In that consists its 
charm and its influence. The young man who goes 
" boxhalling " about town, to finally come home jaded 
and tired after his follies and vice, feels shame and 
remorse as he crosses the sacred threshold of home. 
He goes to his room with a contrite heart, thankful 
that, notwithstanding all his sorrow and shame, he has 
at least a refuge and shelter from vice— that here is 
one spot pure and uncontaminated. Can such an 
influence be otherwise than softening and beneficial ? 
And he does feel softened. He kneels humbly down 
by his bed, and prays for forgiveness. He feels the 
delicious influences of the pure atmosphere of home 
steal over him, and he resolves that he will be better 
for the future. What, if through weakness, he do 
break those resolves? Still does the guardian angel 
of his home again check him, until finally he rises 
master of himself. " Home, sweet home," there is, 
indeed, " no place like home ; " and weak as those 
simple lines may seem to the man of the world, the 
impression of them is noble, so genial, so soothing, 
that if it be weakness to feel their influence, we are 



GEORGE POLLEN. I99 

willing to be convicted of weakness, and confess that 
we would not barter such feelings for all the tierce and 
exciting pleasures of the roue and gamester. Ko ! 
may Heaven ever preserve for us our love for home, 
unsullied and entire ! What though we be deserted 
and left alone ? — still it is home — the dear spot conse- 
crated by pure memories ; and, what is better than all, 
it is not local. It may be carried w^ith us wherever we 
go, and wherever we may strike our tents ; so long as 
we keep that one spot sacred and unstained, so long is 
it our home. Oh ! fathers, mothers, sisters, and wives, 
remember this, and if you truly love your boys, your 
brothers, or your husbands, keep at least the hearth- 
stone pure and sacred. 

And so with myself. Though circumstances have 
left my heart desolate^ — though I am a lonely man, 
and lead a lonely life, and though my home is in " our 
street," still, as I close my shutters, and look at the 
warm firelight, I see the hearth-stone, and memory 
brings back the time when 1 had a mother who dearly 
loved me — God's will be done ! — and I live again in 
the memory of the hearth-stone. I feel that, at any 
rate, in those memories I have a home of which noth- 
ing can deprive me. I make no professions to saint- 
ship. I know I do much that is evil ; but, at any rate, 
my hearth-stone is sacred. " Blessed be the man who 
invented " home ; and my home is home, even though 
it be in '' our street." 



200 WRITINGS OF 



MATRIMONY WITH A PIPE IN IT. 

Jl LEASE take notice, that a pipe or more of tobacco 
having been smoked in every story that has hitherto 
appeared in The Satueday Press, we feel that we 
would by no means dare to deviate from so estab- 
lished a usage, and have, therefore, introduced the 
necessary pipe or two here. 

Scene. — A room filled with tobacco smoJce ; mantle- 
piece covered with old hlach pipes ; meerschaums hang- 
ing on the walls in all directions, and a Machay-spit- 
toon at the foot of each chair. 



Dramatis Persons. 

Charles Augustus. — A seedy looking individual, 
smoking a cigar. 

Jack. — Another seedy looking individual, smoking 



GEORGE POLLEN. 20I 

a pipe, and who, as will soon be seen, does all the 
talking. 

Charles Augustus (somewhat abruj^tly), — Jack, 
why don't you get married ? 

Jack. — Because I smoke a pipe. 

CuARLEs Augustus. — What the deuce has a pij)e 
got to do with it ? 

Jack. — A great deal. A married man implies a 
woman in the case. I suppose you'll allow that ? 

Charles Augustus. — Certainly, of course. Well ! 

Jack. — Well, women can neither abide pipes nor 
the men who smoke them. Why, there's cousin 
Jeannie dear little creature that she is, she becomes 
deadly sick, and nearly goes off in convulsions every 
time that I go into her room ; all from " that horrible, 
disgusting, execrable smell " I carry with me, and 
entreats me so pathetically to give up pipes, that I 
never go near her any more. 

Charles Augustus. — But w^hy don't you give them 
up ? What's the use of making a nuisance of your- 
self? 

Jack {melodramatiGally). — Give them up ? Give 
up my pipes ! Oh, no ! Listen ! For ten years and 
upwards have I smoked tobacco : of these ten years, 
eight were consumed in the consumption of cigars ; of 
those eight years, seven long, weary ones was I in 
learning to " blow rings." Ah, I remember, as if it 
were but yesterday, my first success ! I was sitting 
26 



WRITINGS OP 



with my father, when the long-wished-for spectacle 
of a ring came rolliug out of my month. I gave a 
whoop and a yell, and shouted, " See there ! see 
there ! Eureka ! " My father sprang up as though 
he were shot : 

" What's the matter with the boy ? " 

" I've done it ! I've done it ! " said I. 

" Done what ? " said my father. 

" I've made a ring ! " said I. 

" Made a ring ! Where ? " 

"Where? There!" 

And I puffed out another. Oh, how beautifully it 
rose into the air ! That beautiful blue ring of smoke, 
swayed here and there by the little currents it met 
with, until it finally broke, and I set to work manu- 
facturing more rings ad libitum. But it was not till 
I had spent a year in " blowing rings " that I experi- 
enced the still more transcendant bliss of smoking a 
pipe. And to think that it was all owing to what I 
then considered adverse cricumstances ! {Here Jack^s 
voice sank to a low and solemn whisper, to the great 
astonishment of Charles Augustus,) Ever since then 
I have firmly believed, with Pope, that " whatever is, 
is right " {resuming his natural voice again). I was 
quite down in the pocket. I had, it is true, plenty to 
eat, lots of water, clothes enough, books enough, and 
I had a good hat ; but still I considered niy circum- 
stances adverse, inasmuch as I only had twenty-five 
cents in my pocket. My monthly allowance w^asn't 



GEORGE POLLEN. 203 

due for four days, and what to do for cigars in the 
meantime was a poser. I hunted everywhere, in 
hopes of finding some stray sheep of a cigar ; over- 
hauled my drawers, and turned all the pockets of all 
my coats inside out. My researches were fruitless, or, 
rather, cigarless. I was in despair ; when it suddenly 
occurred to me, that, though I only had twenty-five 
cents, still I had twenty-five cents ; and as I always 
smoked the five-for-a-quarter cigars, I could, at any 
rate, get five cigars ; but then it likewise occurred to 
me, that as I always smoked at least Hve a day, I 
should, on the morrow, be in the same predicament I 
was in to-day. I revolved this profound suggestion 
over and over again in my mind, but I reached the 
tobacconist's without any equally profound suggestion 
having offered itself to remedy the evil. I was just 
about to deposit my last quarter for the cigars, when 
a clay pipe caught my eye. 

" What's the price of that pipe ? " 

" Four cents." 

" Four cents ! what ! for a clay pipe ? " 

" Yes, sir, but see, them's French clay — a very 
superior article." 

I bought the French clay pipe and a shilling pack- 
age of smoking tobacco. This left me a balance of 
nine cents for spending money ; so I took a glass of 
lager, gave the three cents to a beggar, and returned 
home rejoicing. 



204 WRITINGS OF 

" Eureka ! " shouted I, as I passed my father on 
the stairs. 

'' Well, what have jou Eureka'd now ? " asked he. 

" Why, IVe discovered the art of cheap smoking." 

'^ Tin glad to hear it." 

And with this sententious observation he passed on. 

I went immediately to my room and commenced 
on my pipe. I felt as wise as Solomon, but no " clam 
at high-water " ever experienced such happiness as I 
felt before I'd finished my first pipe. I suppose every 
one will agree with me that of all the arts and sciences, 
the greatest is the art of happiness, and this I have at 
last discovered. It consists in the smoking of pipes, 
and the highest axiom of the art is — the fouler the 
pipe, the greater the happiness. Of all pipes, too, the 
French clay stands preeminent. Meerschaum ! pah ! 
they're a mere sham happiness. Give me a good old 
French clay pij)e, rank with a good year's hard smok- 
ing, and, in return, I will show you a countenance 
beaming with benevolence and happiness. Now do 
you suppose that I am going to barter a known and 
certain pleasure like this for the very uncertain happi- 
ness of matrimony ? Do you suppose I will voluntarily 
tie myself for life to a bundle of whalebone, cotton, 
empty crinoline, and caprices ? No, sir ! Were I as 
rich as Croesus, it would be absurd for me to sacrifice 
my freedom to any such teetota ; how much more 
absurd then, would it be for me to do so when I have 
only one hundred thousand a year to live on ? 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



205 



Charles Augustus {looking wp), — What ! have you 
got one hundred thousand a year ? 

Jack. — I beg your pardon. I mean one hundred 
thousand cents. 1 have a bad habit of computing my 
income by cents, instead of dollars. But with only 
one hundi-ed thousand cents a year, how can I marry ? 
It's a perfect impossibility. 

Charles Augustus {calculating). — One hundred 
thousand cents — let me see, two naughts off — one 
thousand dollars. Yes, perfectly absurd. It needs no 
demonstrating. 

Jack. — So you see the reason why I do not marry. 
In the first place, I don't care to exchange a certain 
pleasure for a certain pahi, or, at best, for an uncertain 
pleasure ; and, in the second place, if I did, the certain 
pain, or the uncertain pleasure, would be too expensive 
a luxury for me to indulge in. In short, I don't choose 
to marry ; and if I did, I couldn't afford it ; so why 
think about it at all. And yet I, by no means, feel 
myself in a disconsolate state. On the contrary, I have 
every reason to feel grateful. The prayer of Agar has 
been granted in my case : I have neither poverty nor 
riches. But I have a competency, and " enough is as 
good as a feast," while it is most decidedly better than 
a fast. With few wants, and enough means to satisfy 
them, what more can I desire ? The chief end of man 
assuredly is not matrimony, nor is matrimony necessa- 
rily happiness. Happiness is happiness, and matri- 
mony is only an incidental affair, or rather incidental 



206 WRITINGS OF 

expenses. In short, when I say that I have seen oki 
maids and okl bachekirs, and young maids and young 
bachelors, far happier than young married couples, or 
than old married couples, I by no means assert that 1 
have seen " a new thing under the sun." 

Charles Augustus {flinging away his cigar). — I'm 
convhiced. Give me a pipe. Vive Us pij^es et les 
2)ij)eurs ! for I intend to be a piper for the future. 

(At this juncture, the " chiel who was takin' notes " 
found it expedient to take his departure. He had 
been almost suffocated by one pipe, but the prospect 
of two pipes was too much for him ; so he made his 
exit, and left them " to pipe to themselves.") 



GEORGE POLLEN. 207 



AMBITION ; 

or what my wife said, and what i thought, but 
didn't sat. 

-L HAVE a wife. 

That is a short sentence, hnt there's a world of 
meaning in it for me. My wife and I liave little 
talks occasionally. Xo, not occasionally — frequently. 
There's more than a world of meaning in that sen- 
tence : there's chaos, pandemonium, and who but I 
knows what besides ? 

One day wife said to me : 

" My dear, have you no arrJntion f " with a strong 
emphasis on ambition. 

" What do you mean, my dear ? " said L 

" What do I mean ? " said she. " I mean what 1 
say : have you no amMtion — no desire to do something 
to make yourself known — to be talked about, and 
pointed at as the great So-and-So ? " 



208 WRITINGS OF 

Having learned by experience the futility of dis- 
cussions with women, I contented myself by meekly 
replying, " I*s"o, my dear ; " when I was, of course, 
immediately taunted with my " want of spirit and 
manliness," etc., etc.— the etceteras consisting of a 
long tirade of nonsense, not worth repeating liere, and 
w^hich I wisely heard without making any reply. But 
it convinced me of one thing — that, if I were not am- 
bitious, my wife was, and that her aim in getting me 
to shine like the sun, was that she might shine like a 
moon with reflected light. It also set me to cogitating 
on the subject of ambition, and the result of my cogi- 
tations was, that ambition, after all, was nothing but 
sheer selfishness, a higher order of self-seeking — per- 
haps, after all, nothing but sheer selfishness ; for what 
are its aims other than the glorification of self? In its 
results, it may tend to the benefaction of humanity ; 
but as for its aim, what, indeed, is it but selfishness ? 
It led me, too, to reflect on the strange inconsistency 
of my wife, and, in fact, of women generally ; for does 
not my wife go to church every Sunday, and pray to be 
delivered from " pride, vanity, and self-conceit," and yet 
she is herself in practice not only forcing these quali- 
ties upon my notice, but inculcating them as duties 
that I ought to perform. In short, she says " it's a 
shame I'm so pusillanimous," and that I " ought to be 
ambitious " — in other words, that I ought to be selfish. 
No, no, dear ; though I dare not tell you so to your 
face, still, you are wrong. It is not my duty to be 



GEORGE POLLEN. 209 

ambitious. My duty is to be just the contrary — to be 
humble ; and, so far from being self-seeking, I ought, 
on the contrary, to seek the good and happiness of 
others. Such is my duty, and all the sophistry and 
doctrines of expediency in the world cannot convince 
me to the contrary. I do not profess to come up to 
the high mark of huuiility and self-denial 1 have pro- 
posed, but 1 do assert that such should be my aim. 1 
acknowledii^e that I lead a somewhat indolent and 
pleasure-seeking lite, but I deny that its aim is any 
worse than that of the ambitions man's ; and it is a 
mere matter of taste that I prefer its pleasures to the 
pains of ambition, and that ambition's very distant 
reward. My dear says that I " do nothing but sit in 
my study moping, and smoking a pipe." So far is 
this from the fact, that the only time I do mope is 
when in her delightful society. For instance, when I 
awake in the morning, I find myself alone, for my 
wife has at least the merit of being industrious, and is 
therefore an early riser ; so, when I awake, the sun is 
quite high in the heavens, and my wife is quite low in 
the kitchen, " blowing up " the cook, and making 
herself otherwise interesting. The first sensation I 
experience is the delightful one of being alone. Then 
comes the luxurious sense of being snug and warm 
beneath the bed-clothes. Then I watch the sunbeams 
on the wall, for I love the sun dearly, and it always 
seems to say to me, " Dream on, dear lazy child that 
you are." Then I look at my pictures, and they giv3 
27 



2IO WRITINGS OF 

me pleasure ; and then I deliver myself up to reverie, 
which is always pleasant. I do not leave my dreams 
till the sun has reached the meridian, when I rise. 
After refreshing myself with a cold bath, which is 
always pleasant, I go down to a solitary breakfast, 
which is pleasant because I am alone, for I never did 
believe in gregarious breakfasts. Then I read the 
paper and smoke my pipe, and after that I begin my 
w^ork. Work ! yes, work ! for what would pleasure 
be in this w^orld without change ? Yes, I w^ork. I 
study hard for tw^o hours, read for two more, and then 
take my constitutional walk. At six I dine. After 
dinner, my wife leaves the table, and I smoke a cigar 
and sip sherry, and that gives me pleasure. In short, 
the only time in which I don't enjoy myself is in the 
evening, and which I spend with my wife at some 
party or other ; '^ for," as my wife says, " we 7nust 
keep our position." I must confess I don't see very 
clearly why we must ; but then, my wife says so, and 
she ought to know, for she is descended from an 
awfully ancient family, and, as she tells me forty times 
a day, she " can count kings as well as nobles among 
her ancestors." All stuff and nonsense ! What if she 
can ? For my part, I have never as yet discovered 
any thing so very remarkable in the descendants of 
ancient families. On the contrary, I find only a very 
invidious distinction between them and their ances- 
tors ; for the ancestors are historical, but the descend- 
ants Jire onlv hvsterical. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 211 

I only wish I dared to tell my wife so ; but no, 1 
dare not. I should only undergo discussions for a 
week to come ; and any thing for quiet, so I swallow 
all her remarks with a gulp, keeping up a tremendous 
thinking, say nothing, and go out with her to her con- 
founded parties. I try to "grin and bear it," but I 
can't. Instead of grinning, I feel like blubbering ; 
and as for bearing, bear is an active verb, whereas 1 
am only a passive substantive, and feel very much 
like the past participle of being " bored." I wonder 
what she is. She must be a something in the impera- 
tive mood. But it's all my own fault ; for why did I 
get married at all ? I was once a gay young bachelor, 
with plenty of means. I travelled about and amused 
myself. In short, I was free. Soon some officious 
friends tell me that it is time I should settle down and 
get married. In reply, I rattle off the old song, 

" The first month is smick-smack, 

The second month is hither and thitlier, 
The third month is whick-whack, 

And the fourth month is, ' Why the devil did they 
CTer bring us two together ! ' " 

They tell me that this is only an old baclielor's 
song, with no truth in it, and that it is high time to 
cease my frivolity. I laugh at them, and add that, 
when I get into a less transitory existence, I may settle 
down ; but why do so in this sublunary sphere, where 
all is change ! How can one settle down with any 



WRITINGS OF 



certainty ? My wife may die the very day after mar- 
riage, and then I should be in the same ])redicament 
as before, with the exception of a suit of sable — and I 
never did fancy black. 

The amount of it was, however, that I was over- 
ruled, and I married w^hat is called '• a woman of 
society." Society ! Bosh ! — Hark ! what's that ? 

" My dear, are you ready ? " 

" Yes, dear — in a minute." 

There's another confounded party ! Tin deter- 
mined now. I'm off to Indiana to-morrow for a 
divorce. 

" Yes, dear — coming ! " 



GEORGE POLLEN. 213 



MY SUBJECTS. 

-L AM nionarcli of all I survey " — that's very true ; 
but then, what do 1 survey ? I am not a civil engi- 
neer, and my occupation is not to survey lands, etc. 
I am only the occupant of a small room in the fourth 
story. What, then, do I survey ? 

My window-shade is drawn down, and, as I look 
about me, I find that I survey — 

One table, 

One single bedstead, 

Two chairs. 

One washstand, pitcher, and basin, 

One looking-glass, and hair-brush. 

Comb, and tooth-brush. 

One book-case, and a few books. 
Of these I am sole monarch. But what is a mon- 
ai-chy without subjects ; and where are my subjects ? 
Where ? Why, all about me — wherever, indeed, I 
choose to place them. 



2T4 WRITINGS OF 

My House of Lords consists of two members — Lord 
Bacon and Lord Byron ; but, being of a somewhat 
despotic and arbitrary nature, I have chosen to place 
Lord Byron betwen Goldsmith and old Dr. Johnson ; 
and Lord Bacon stands next to Shakespeare, with 
Boccacio on his other side nudging him in the ribs. 
Bacon looks as though he liad an idea that both these 
worthies were poking fun at him, for he is very red, 
but then this may be owing to his clothes ; for he is 
clad in scarlet, while his two companions are in sober 
maroon, and look veiy much as though they were in a 
brown study about something. 

My privy-councillors are at present lying on the 
table — Epictetus, Thomas a Kempis, and Mason, that 
man who can talk so soundly about '' self-knowledge." 

My ministers of finance — Adam Smith and Lay — 
now lie sprawling on the floor. 

My poets-laureate — Milton, Chaucer, etc. — are sit- 
ting on a shelf; while my wits and jesters — Rabelais, 
Tom Hood, etc. — are perched on the mantlepiece. 

My chaplain, Sydney Smith, comes down occa- 
sionally to give me some of his " wit and wisdom." 
Charles Lamb, too, whenever I want a consoler and 
genial companion ; and so does Sterne, when I want 
to know something about Tristram Shandy. 

I am rather a " played-out "-looking monarch, I 
must confess, for I am thin as a lath, and my com- 
plexion is sallow. My face is marked — with the cares 
of government, I suppose ; while my shoulders have a 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



215 



most decided stoop, and my liead is bent forward, 
clearly showing race ; for I have read somewhere that 
a head leaning forward indicates that the possessor's 
ancestors wore helmets. 

1 like nothino^ better than to sit down and watch 
my subjects, and note what they are about. Next to 
Kabelais stands Chaucer, in a full suit of green, and 
who seems to be delighting, and, at tlie same time, dis- 
gusting the " gentle Spencer " with his " Canterbury 
Tales." Robert Bnrns has in some unaccountable 
way got himself perched on the top of Homer's head, 
which latter worthy looks very black as he stands lis- 
tening to Sterne telling him about his " Sentimental 
Journey." Sydney Smith seems to have monopolized 
the whole of the " Noctes Ambrosiange ; " while Tom 
Hood has got alongside of " The Doctor," and is evi- 
dently asking him for medical advice respecting that 
body of his which so strongly resembles bad poit — 
" of a bad color, and very little body." Henry Heine, 
with that ghastly sneer of his, looks isolated in the 
midst of them all, and seems to be especially sneering 
at Longfellow, who is telling him " not to look mourn- 
fully into the past ; " while glorious, honest Carlyle is 
perfectly black in the face with energetic denuncia- 
tions against all shams and humbugs. Meanwhile 
that squeamishly absurd Democritus, Beresford, is 
making the whole crowd conscious of " The Miseries 
of Human Life." Burton, in a quaint garb, is half- 
laughing and half-crying, as he learnedly anatomizes 



2l6 WRITINGS OF 

melaiiclioly. Old Dr. Johnson is evidently astonishing 
Lord Byron, and every one within hail of his eccen- 
tricities and powerful humor ; while Charles Lamb, 
notwithstanding he is stuttering out puns by the 
wholesale, lovingly criticising the old dramatists, and 
clothing every thing he says in a delicate, gentle 
humor, is nevertheless evidently thinking only of 
" poor, dear sister Mary." Dear Charles Lamb, 1 
love you better than all the rest. 

De Quincey here steps forward, and tells me that, 
truly to enjoy myself, I must have some solid, regular 
pursuit — that I must bottom myself in one of the 
sciences. To which Montaigne answers, that, " ac- 
cording to the opinion of Plato, constancy, faith, and 
sincerity are the true philosophy, and the other sci- 
ences that are directed to other ends are but cozen- 
age." But quaint Jeremy Taylor says that " the grace 
of contentedness was the sum of all the old moral 
philosophy, and a great duty in Christianity, and of 
the most universal nse in the whole course of our 
lives." " He was a strange fool," says he, " that 
should be angry because dogs and sheep need no 
shoes, and yet himself is full of care to get some ; and 
if we murmur here, we may at the next melancholy 
be troubled that God did not make us to be angels or 
stars." " You must be governed by your needs, not 
by your fancy ; by natural, not by evil customs and 
ambitious principles. He that would shoot an arrow 
out of a plough, or hunt a hare with an elephant, is 



GEORGE POLLEN. 217 

not unfortunate for missing the mark or prey." Some 
one was now heard faintly to stutter out that, for his 
part, he was " contented with little, yet wishing for 
"tnore / " whereupon Tom Moore got up, and said he 
thanked the speaker ; that it was true he had written 
little verses, and he was proud to hear that Mr. Lamb 
was contented with them, but that, if he wished for 
Moore poems, he could easily be gratified. At this 
the faint voice stammered out, " Diddle diddle dump- 
kins." This brought a sunny smile on every face, 
which, however, subsided into a decorous gravity, as 
1, their monarch, said to them, " Do Quincey is right, 
my friends and subjects ; so is Montaigne, and so is 
Jeremy Taylor. Every one in his place, and don't 
presume to interrupt your sovereign (for I noticed that 
several were about to speak) ; I, as your rightful sov- 
ereign, will have no interruptions. I liave bought 
you with money. (Here, Lay, one of my ministers of 
finance, evidently had something to say). No inter- 
ruptions, as I have already said, Mr. Lay. Your says 
are, no doubt, " wise saws," but I'll none of them, at 
least at the present moment. If you must talk, sir 
(for Mr. Lay looked as tliough he was going to be 
obstreperous), go and talk to the Ettrick Sliepherd, 
over in the corner there. By the smile on his face, he 
looks as though he might tell you something about 
practical Political Economy ; and, now I think of it, 
he was the friend of ' Puir Watty, who got his death 
by studyin' the stoL' (Mr. Lay subsided, but, instead 
28 



2l8 WRITINGS OF 

of going to talk with Hogg, lie went over into the 
opposite corner of the room, and both looked very 
much as though they were playing ' puss in the cor- 
ner.') But, as I was going to say (liere Lay pricked 
up his ears), De Quncey, Montaigne, and Taylor are 
all right, in a measure : one ought to study some sci- 
ence—ought to have faith, constancy, and sincerity, 
and ought to be contented. There can be no doubt 
but that the true object of education is the just bal- 
ancing of all the faculties. The three divisions into 
which the noble Lord Bacon, here present, has divided 
all the faculties — Memory, Reason, and Lnagination — 
should all be cultivated. To Memory, the noble Lord 
assigns History ; to Reason, Science ; and to Imagina- 
tion, Poetry. 

" I once had a favorite theory of my own, which 
was, that the reasoning faculties may be more greatly 
exercised in the study of History and Poetry, than in 
that of the Sciences ; for in Science, thought I, we 
have the results already reasoned out for us, and all 
that is necessary is a careful reading to the under- 
standing of them. But in History and Poetry we 
have only facts and imaginations presented to us, and 
we must draw our own conclusions from them, and 
reason out the results for ourselves. There is some 
truth in this tlieory, but the fallacy lies in confound- 
ing together the two very important classes of readers 
and students. I had compared the student of History 
with the reader of Science — not with the student of 



GEORGE POLLEN. 219 

Science, as I should have done ; aiming, as he onght 
to do, at new discoveries. There can be no doubt but 
that the study of History and Poetry is a profound 
one, but that of Science is still more profound ; and 
inasmuch as its results are exact and comparatively 
certain, the reasoning faculties are better disciplined ; 
whereas, in reasoning on History, we are too apt to be 
led astray, by the uncertainty of its results, into mere 
chimeras of the imagination. 

" I see by your faces, most noble lords and gentle- 
men, that my oratory does not please your fastidious 
tastes. I acknowledge myself deficient in the graces 
of Oratory, but I have always considered them as 
entirely subservient to a greater (here Cicero's face 
assumed a most portentous frown) ; that greater is 
Truth. That, indeed, should be our aim ; and if, after 
having discovered it, this short life of ours will admit 
of the cultivation of the graces of Oratory, well and 
good ; but if not, we should pay little attention to 
them." (At this, Cicero bounced up in a terrible pas- 
sion. " But, sir," said he, " how can you persuade 
men, without the graces of Oratory ? ") " Silence, 
Mr. Cicero ! it is your monarch who has the floor. 
But I will condescend to inform you, sir, that the 
graces of Truth as far exceed the graces of Oratory, as 
the sun does all the brilliant gas-lights in the civilized 
world. But, gentlemen and noble lords, I am tired ; 
and, as it is my good pleasure to do just as I please, 
I forthwith dismiss this couference. Meanwhile, you 



2 20 WRITINGS OF 

shall stay just where I have placed yoii, until it is 
again my good pleasure to again consult you." 

Tlieii, lighting my pipe, I, the glorious monarch of 
such glorious subjects, lazily reclined myself on my 
royal couch {single bedstead)^ and gazed into the soft, 
sad ej^es of my fair subject, Beatrice di Cenci, as she 
sat resting on the mantlepiece. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 221 



AMBITION ; 



OR, MY WIFE AGAIN. 



JAlLy wife says that my fancy about books being my 
subjects is all " folderol and fiddle-de-dee ; " that, on 
the contrary, it is I who am the subject and slave of 
my books. But 1 should like to know what all that 
proves ? If she be right, why, all I can say is, that 
" folderol and fiddle-de-dee " are very pleasant institu- 
tions, and that 1 am very glad to have come across 
them. 

I only wish I had carried out my original intention 
of going to Indiana. I should now be free from all 
her impertmences. But it was ordered otherwise. 
The very night that I had formed my determination, 
my wife became a second Cinderella, and abruptly left 
a party for home when the clock struck twelve. 
" Why this inordinate haste, my dear ? " said T. Mj 
wife sighed. " Oh, dear ! " said she. I became 



222 WRITINGS OF 



alarmed ; for, tlioiigli I detest my wife, still I possess 
the common feelings of humanity. " Why that sigh, 
my dear ? I hope yon're not sick ? " " Sick ! " said 
she ; " yes, I am sick — I'm sick of the workl. I'm 
sick of every thing in it. Only to think, that this is 
the last night, and the parties are all over ! Oh, dear ! 
oh, dear ! " I couldn't restrain my joy. " The last 
party night? Huz— ." But my joy was of short 
duration, as well as my huzzah ; the latter having 
been intercepted midway by a slap on the mouth from 
my better half. " Unfeeling, cruel man, who can thus 
delight in my misery ! " I remained mute, but con- 
soled myself by a consciousness of the integrity of my 
conduct ; for the very action which accompanied her 
reproach very clearly convinced me that I w^as any 
thing but an unfeeling man. 

The next day I was obliged to go with my wife to 
church, and then I discovered, for the iirst time, that 
the first day of Lent began at twelve o'clock the night 
before. With all due reverence, I have often w^on- 
dered why my wife ever goes to church at all. I once 
knew a Frenchman, who, on my asking him why he 
didn't go to church, said that " that did not amuse 
him ; " and an Italian, on my asking him the same 
(piestion, merely shrugged his shoulders, gave me a 
look of pity, and said " he had not that weakness." 
But when I ask ray wife why she does go, she only 
says, " You're a perfect heathen ! " 

The cessation of parties has proved of no comfort 



(JEORGE POLLEN. 



223 



to me. A great evil may be endured in the midst of 
other distracting circumstances ; but when you have it 
all alone to yourself, it is indeed almost unendurable — 
and now I have my wife all to myself. Am I indeed 
a living man, or am I not rather in the state called 
" purgatory," and sufferng for my past sins ? I fear I 
am getting hipped, for my wife appears to me latterly 
under all manner of portentous shapes. The most 
predominant and most distressing one is that of " fam- 
ily." Slie no longer merely informs me in general 
terms of her illustrious descent, but she recounts a 
long roll of names and mighty deeds, and I now 
endure not only my w^Ife, but all her ancestors. Every 
night are they disinterred and lugged in, until they 
fairly haunt me by day. Under such a pressure, my 
subjects at home are unable to distract me, and I have, 
of late, taken to wandering among my prisons. Tliese 
are not Silvio Pellico's, but " my prisons." In them 
are incarcerated, not myself, but all those w^ho have 
been guilty of the crime of high treason against all 
private monarchies, and are therefore devoted to the 
public weal. They each have a head jailor and assist- 
ants, w^ho, at the command of certain pri\H[leged mon- 
archs, like myself, unlock the grated door which con- 
lines the prisoner, and delivers him over to service for 
a limited period. I designate them as my prisons, 
because, though I do not enjoy the absolute possession 
of them, still I have the usufruct, which is nearly as 
good. Those which I principally frequent, are the 



224 WRITINGS OF 

" Society " prison — a very social institution, and which 
possesses a " conversation room," the recesses of which, 
however, no one has ever dared to penetrate ; the 
" Historical " prison — a most independent prison, and 
whose jailor is nearly always non est inventus j and 
the '^ Astor " prison, which is the most astor-cratic 
institution of all. Being of an aristocratic turn my- 
self, I naturally delight most in the latter. 

One day, as I was prowling about in its cells, I 
chanced to stumble over a big, hulking fellow in red 
clothes, with a profusion of gold ornaments, and who 
announced himself as Mr. Burke. I was delighted at 
meeting with him, until I found he was not " the sub- 
lime and beautiful " Burke I had anticij)ated, but a 
genealogical one. This somewhat mitigated my de- 
light ; but as he had forced himself upon my atten- 
tion, I concluded to explore him. He proved to be a 
very pompous gentleman, full of high-sounding names 
and titles, and as fond of descents from royalty as my 
wife. In fact, that was his forte. He knew the names 
of all the families in the British kingdom who could 
trace a descent from royalty. 1 noticed that the 
majority plumed themselves on their descent from 
William the Conqueror, and from the Plantagenets. 
This led me to investigate the antecendents of those 
gentlemen themselves. I discovered that William the 
Conqueror was the illegitimate son of a tanner's 
daughter. No wonder that even his hard-handed con- 
temporaries could not rub out such a stain ! — and that 



GEORGE POLLEN. 22$ 

all liis ancestors, with the exception of one or two, 
were illegitimate sons (as you may see by L'Art de 
Yerificr les Dates). 

As for the Plantagenets, 1 found that my wife's 
carpets equally deserved the name, it having been 
assumed by an Earl of Anjou, because he had been 
" scourged with broom-twigs," or plantagenista ; and 
as for the Earl of Anjou himself, I discovered, by the 
aid of L'Art de Verifier les Dates^ the book already 
mentioned, that his ancestor was a peasant — " rusti- 
cans^ de copia silvestri et venatico exereitio mctitansP 
The son of this peasant — Tertulle — rose in the social 
scale, and was made seneschal of Gatinais. His son, 
Ingelgen, married a daughter of the Count of Gati- 
nais, and thus rose one step higher. " The barons of 
Gatinais were indignant at this alliance, and hesitated 
to recognize as their sovereign lord one who had been 
the inferior to some of them, but finally rendered him 
homage out of respect for the authority of the King, 
and who had compelled the marriage." The great- 
grandson of this Ingelgen was Geoffroy Grisegoville, 
made Count of Anjou, " by the grace of God and the 
bounty of the king," as he himself expressed it — 
" Gratia Die et senioris Ihujonis largitione Andega- 
"densis comes matris quoque mem GerbegcBP Such is 
the origin of the celebrated Plantagenets — a peasant 
and broom-twigs. A descent, indeed! Why will man 
suffer himself thus to be imposed upon by the mere 
shadow of a name ? There are, " indeed, more things 
29 



2 26 WRITINGS OF 

in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in 
our philosophy."— (" 6^^/^" folio edition of Shake- 
speare.) 

On my return home, I said nothing to my wife, 
but those noble ancestors of hers had lost a great deal 
of their prestige for me. Yet I could not help seeing 
how that, of all the sources of pride, that of noble 
birth seems to take the str(jngest hold on the imagina- 
tion, and is the hardest to eradicate. Eead the his- 
tory of the '' old noblesse " of France ; see the Ger- 
man noble, with his dozens of quarterings ; the proud 
Castilian of Spain ; the Irishman, with his descent 
from Milesius ; the Englishman, tracing to the Anglo- 
Saxon divinity, Woden ; and, above all, the Welch- 
man, w^ith a pedigree on which you will find a notice, 
about halfway up, " that about this time Adam was 
born." What a crowd of polypi and fish of all kinds 
he must have had to wade through before he reached 
chaos ; and yet his very name strongly attests his 
claim, for where else could he have got such a chaotic 
mixture of double Uwy's and double wvdd's, etc. ? 

As, pondering thus, I walked up and down my 
domain, I came across Zimmerinann, whom, for a 
wonder, I found out of his ''solitude," and ready to 
discourse on the very subject I was ruminating. 
" Pride," said he, " pervades all orders of society." 
It certainly pervades my wife, thought I. " Man," 
continued Zimmermann, '^ looks uj3on himself as the 
centre to which all created beings tend. Among the 



GEORGE POLLEN. 227 

pismires inhabiting this mighty mole-hill, there have 
always been some who could not discard the idea that 
the Sim only shines for them to bask in." My wife 
must be one of those insects, thought I. " The king 
of Malacca," continued Zimmermann, " styles himself 
lord of the winds, and of the eastern and western 
oceans. The Mogul assumes the title of ' conqueror 
of the world, and king of the earth,' and the grandees 
of his court are no less than ' rulers of the thunder- 
storm,' ' steersmen of the whirlwinds,' or ' extermina- 
tors of the host.' Self-conceit towers to an amazing 
height. The kings of Madura derived their pedigree 
in a right line from the jackass, on which account they 
tjeat every long-eared brayer as a brother, and never 
fail, when it rains, to hold an umbrella over him." 
Why, my wife must be own sister to the kings of 
Madura, thought I. " I could add numberless in- 
stances — " They are sufficient, Mr. Zimmermann ; 
I am satisfied. 

That night, when my wife began about her ances- 
tors, the only thing that perplexed me was how to 
reconcile the facts that she could be both of those 
specimens of animated nature at the same time ; but 
I came to the conclusion that she must be of some 
higher descent, though her crying sin is Ambition. 



2 28 WRITINGS OF 



MY SCIENTIFIC PURSUITS. 

now I CAME TO STUDY ASTRONOMY. 

J\jLy wife says she " never saw such a man " as I 
am. " Why," says she, " yon haven't even the spirit 
of a mosqnito ; bnt, since you have no ambition, do 
for mercy's sake at least do something. What are yon 
thinking about now ? Why don't you say something ? 
Can't you even make a retort ? " 

" Well, my dear," said I, " if it will give you any 
satisfaction to know what I'm thinking about, I will 
tell you. I was just thinking of what one of the 
philosophers once said — ' If an ass kick ine, nmst I 
needs kick him back again ? ' " I wish I had held my 
tongue, for my wife immediately showed her descent 
by immediately going oiF into hysterics. 

The next day, in a fit of repentance, I proceeded to 
do something, 1 concluded to take the advice of De 
Quincey, and bottom myself in one of the sciences ; 



GEORGE POLLEN. 229 

and as I had always been more or less partial to chem- 
istry, I pitched upon that. The first thing to do was 
to fit up a laboratory ; and as I wished to give my 
wife an agreeable surprise by showing her I was really 
in earnest, I waited patiently till she went out, and 
then sent for the carpenter. Before she had returned, 
he had completely transformed one of our spare-rooms 
into a perfect dove-cote of pigeon-holes, and in half an 
hour afterwards a cart arrived, covered with retorts, 
blow-pipes, and all the other necessary appurtenances 
of a laboratory. I w^as in hopes of getting them all in 
their places before my wife came in ; but just as the 
first parcel was being carried into the house, in she 
came. I was standing in the hall, in my dressing- 
gown, giving the necessary du'ections. She marched 
straight up to me, with the marabout feather in her 
hat fairly quivering. By this feather alone did I know 
the state of the temperature ; for, being of high line- 
age, my wife never shows her temper before strangers. 
'No ; that is all pent up and reserved for our hours of 
privacy. 

" My dear,'' with a gay but ominous smile, " what 
are those strange-shaped bottles for ? " 

" I will show you, my dear," said I, " if you will 
follow me ; " and feeling any thing but " sustained and 
soothed by an unfaltering trust," and more "like the 
quarry-slave at night scourged in his dungeon," I led 
the way to my laboratory. 



230 WRITINGS OF 

" What is the meaning of this, sir ? " said she, after 
liaving closed the door. 

'• Why, my dear, this is my laboratory," said I, 
with a very lugubrious attempt at a smile. 

" And pray, sir, what's that ? " 

" Why, my dear," said I, rubbing my hands, and 
trying to look exceedingly cheerful, " you see before 
you a future Liebig." (A big lie, as I shortly after- 
wards discovered.) " I intend to be a chemist." 

" A chemist ! a low, vulgar apothecary ! " said she. 
^' Oh, dear ! " and off she went — into hysterics, of 
course. 

That night every thing was in the laboratory ex- 
cept — the chemist ; and the key of the laboratory was 
in the chemist's wife's pocket. The chemist himself, 
instead of making experiments on " particles of inani- 
mate matter," spent the night in vain endeavors to 
convince an " animate individual," his wife, that a 
chemist was not an " apothecary," necessarily, but a 
practical man of science. 

No, my wife would not be convinced. I told her 
what a friend of mine, an eminent chemist, had told 
me, that " man himself is nothing but a chemical com- 
bination ; " that " man, indeed, is nothing but salts 
and proteine, topped off by an electrical machine, 
properly called a head." " Why, my dear," said I, 
" I might even make a man myself" 

" Humph ! " said she. 

It was all of no use. All my attempts to exalt the 



GEORGE POLLEN. 23 1 

science in her estimation were of no avail. Slie said 
she was " not going to be blown up by my retorts." 
I didn't remind her of how often I'd been blown up by 
hers. Bat there was an end of my chemical projects. 
The next day the carpenter was sent for, and, before 
night, the j-oom had returned to its spareness, and the 
retorts to their former owner — at considerable less 
than cost price. 

Fortunately for the cause of science, chemistry is 
not the only branch in the world ; else some married 
men, or at least one of them, would be debarred the 
privilege of being scientific as well as married. 
Chemistry is only a branch of science, and relates 
only to " the phenomena and laws of particles of 
inanimate matter y " while what relates to ^' jparticles 
of living matter'''^ is the province of physiology. 
Physiology being, therefore, next door to chemistry, I 
took np physiology. I spent half my time in dissect- 
ing-rooms. I became conversant with bones, sinews, 
muscles, nerves, &c. ; and the only thing that aston- 
ished me was that I hadn't done it before. Here was 
I, an animate bundle of bones, &c., meeting with other 
animate bundles of the same materials, being even 
intimate with some of them, and yet not cognizant of 
my own individual bones, &c. 

Another thing struck me. We are all of us ani- 
mated skeletons. Every one I met with, I, in imagi- 
nation, divested of his fleshy covering, and regarded 
him in his hond-fide aspect. I became lugubrious. 



232 



WRITINGS OF 



Every thing seemed of the bone, bony. I was even 
reduced to making puns ; and one day, having gone 
into a bookstore to get one of Bohn's edition of the 
classics, I positively asked the bookkeeper, in a fit of 
abstraction, if he had any " dead men's bones." He 
looked at me with astonishment, as well he might. 
"1^0," said I, "I mean Terence's or Tacitus' bones — 
no, I mean ' Bohn's Terence,' &c." I verily believe, 
if Bohn had issued an edition of " The History of Tur- 
key," I should have asked for Turkey-bones, instead 
of Bohn-Turkey (about as perfect an antithesis as one 
can well imagine). The result was, that I was obliged 
to give up physiology. The bony-part of humanity 
was too hard a subject for me to study. 

But, as 1 was determined to study some science or 
other, the next step was, w^liich one to select. Me- 
chanical philosophy, like chemistry, required too many 
experiments to be practicable for me. Geology and 
mineralogy I never cared for. I never had a liking for 
grubbing in the dirt, and the only " rocks " I ever 
fancied are those constituting the standard of valne. 
As for entomology, I detest bugs of all kinds — from 
the big-bugs of the fashionable world, to the little 
ones that infest bedsteads. In short, I ran over all 
the sciences — botany, meteorology, zoology, ornithol- 
ogy, ichthyology, &c., but found objections to all, 
until I finally soared up to astronomy. This I found 
to be practicable. In studying it, one needs no re- 
torts, no mussing in the dirt, no dangerous cxpcri- 



GEORGE POLLEN. 233 

ments. If you do come across a comet now and then, 
you can't handle him even if you want to. You must 
be contented with looking at him, and, at a very re- 
spectful distance, study unobtrusively his eccentrici- 
ties. I felt convinced that astronomy must be a per- 
fectly celestial pursuit, so I set immediately to w^ork 
at astronomy. 

Before the day was over, I discovered that Py- 
thagoras, who died about B. C. 500, w^as '' the first 
who gave form to the vague idea that the sun was in 
the centre of the planetary orbits ; " that it was he 
" who taught, in fact, the system which now immor- 
talizes the name of Copernicus ; " and that Coperni- 
cus, who flourished in the sixteenth century, " revived 
the old system taught by Pythagoras, and made so 
great a figure in astronomy, that it has ever since been 
called the Copernican system ; " that Kepler, in the 
seventeenth century, discovered the " true figure of 
the orbits of the planets," &c. ; that Galileo, in the 
same century, " was the first w^ho applied the tele- 
scope to astronomical knowledge ; " and, before night 
arrived, I experienced all the good effects ascribed to 
the study of astronomy. I felt enlarged, elevated, 
expanded already. 

That night, when my wife began with the old 
questions, " What were you born for ? " " For what 
earthly purpose were you put in the world ? " 1 
proudly answered, " For no earthly purpose, madam. 
I was born, in the words of the great Anaxagoras, ' to 
80 



234 WRITINGS OF 

contemplate the stars.' I am a celestial ! " And 
then, fearing lest she might think I'd turned China- 
man — for her ideas of Chinamen are entii'elj confined 
to crockery-ware and the dislocated specimens of pig- 
tailed Celestials one frequently meets in the streets — 
I quickly added, " Not a Chinaman, madam, under- 
stand me, but a lawyer of the stars — from astro^ a star, 
and nomos^ a law." 

" Oh, heavens ! " said my wife, " he's mad." 

*' No, madam ; the poet Young says, 

' An undevout astronomer is mad ; ' 

but I am devout without the ' un : ' therefore I'm not 

mad, ' most noble Festus.' " 

" Festus ! noble Festus ! " said my wife ; and then 

— " Ah, deary, wouldn't you like some orgeat and 

water ? Let me mix you some, dear." 

" Orgeat ! " said I ; " what the deuce do I want 

with orgeat ? I've just had my dinner." 
" Yes ; but, dear, just to please me ? " 
" No," I answered, " I don't want any orgeat." 
But my wife nevertheless left the room. She was 

gone some time, and when she returned, she brought 

in with her a strong smell of paregoric. I never saw 

her so bland and gentle, and began to think she must 

be getting crazy, as she advanced smilingly on tip-toe 

with a tumbler of paregoric in her hand. 

" Now, deary," said she, " please take tliis, for my 

sake.'' 



GEORGE POLLEN. 235 

" What the mischief do I want of paregoric ? " 
said I. " I haven't got a stomach-ache, and I never 
felt better in my life." 

Just then the door-bell rang. 

" Oh, here he is ! " said my wife ; and before I 
could ask her who '' he is " was, in walked the doctor. 
Explanations, of course, ensued, and I now have it in 
my power to record a singular phenomenon. I actu- 
ally saw my wife laugh. That very genteel woman 
actually condescended to laugh, for the first time since 
our marriage ; for she then looked upon me as a 
second Herschel. I am, of course, still more con- 
vinced of the beneficial effects of the study of astrono- 
my, and will only further add, that I am still at it. 



236 WRITINGS OF 



THE VICISSITUDES OF BABIES. 

_Lhe vicissitudes of human life have frequently 
claimed the attention of mankind, but they have only 
been regarded as commencing with a certain advanced 
stage of the mammal. 

I^ow, if Ave look a little closer, we will find that 
these vicissitudes extend still further back than is gen- 
erally supposed. We all know what a baby is. We 
doubt if there be a man living who has not seen or at 
least heard a baby at some time or times in the course 
of his life ; but we have always been accustomed to 
consider babies as free from the vicissitudes of life — 
that babies pursue the even tenor of their voices and 
" the even tenor of their way " in the usual routine of 
squalling, crowing, and dawning perceptions of things 
about them, without being affected in any very mate- 
rial way by outside circumstances ; and it was very 
natural that we should think so. 

A baby can hardly be said to be endowed with any 



GEORGE POLLEN. 237 

very great amount of intellectual or moral power. 
How, then, can the moral or intellectual life of a mere 
squib of flesh in rags be influenced by external circum- 
stances ? So long as the baby is fed and clothed, what 
more does it want ? 

Nothing, indeed, so long as it is fed and clothed by 
its own mother. But the advance of that glorious 
chimera called Civilization has upset the natural order 
of things. Fashion ordains that the mother shall not 
nurse her own child. Of course, we do not refer to 
those exceptional instances where ill health is a canse 
of prohibition. In such cases it is, of course, right 
and reasonable. But we are only speaking of cases 
where Fashion ordains, without either right or reason, 
a strong and healthy w^oman must not nurse her child, 
because this right of nature is unfashionable ; it spoils 
the woman's shape, keeps her out of society, and, on 
the whole, is very vulgar. To this decree of Fashion 
is, no doubt, owing much of the vice which infects 
society. This beautiful dictate of woman's nature is 
denied her, and, to satisfy the want of a natural pleas- 
ure, she flings herself into the vortex of artificial ones, 
and there drowns her heart. 

What can be expected of the mfluence of such a 
mother over her child ? Where are those delicate, ten- 
der feelings, that the child instinctively feels tlie need 
of as it grows older ? All drowned in the whirlpool 
of fashionable society, and all because the very duties 
and pleasures which might have reclaimed many a 



238 WRITINGS OF 

selfish fasliioiiable "svoman, are denied her bv the de- 
cree of Fasliion, which votes all such pleasures and 
duties as vulgar. 

Let Fashion hold her sway, if she will, over foolish 
girls, but let ber not interfere with the tender dictates 
of the mother's heart. What a touching sight is that 
of a heretofore fashionable, heartless woman, suddenly 
awakened to the perception of higher pleasures and 
aims by the helpless innocence of her baby ! What a 
world of tenderness is in her eye, and how gently she 
nurses, and cares for it ! All her attention now ab- 
sorbed by the little one, she is no longer the cold, 
selfish woman, but the kind, gentle mother. 

Yet Fashion dares to plant her cold tread on such 
holy ground, and there are women weak enough to 
obey her decrees. One would suppose that the whole 
woman's soul would rise in arms against it. 

Then see what a hubbub this same Fashion causes 
through the baby- world. Though the fashionable 
mother may not nurse her own child, still the fashion- 
able baby must be nursed. Another mother is called 
in, whose child must be nursed by some one else, the 
latter's child must be nursed by somebody else, and so 
the babies are passed around, until one finally reaches 
some mother who has lost her child, and the further 
circulation of the babies is stopped. Tlius Fashion 
upsets not only fashionable babies, but likewise many 
outside of her fold, and a great many mothers thus 



(iEORGE POLLEN. 239 

get alienated from their own babies, and passionately 
attached to somebody else's baby. 

There is one circnmstance, however, in connection 
with this circulation of babies, that is particularly 
painful to think of: A fashionable mother pays, say 
twenty-four dollars a month to her nnrse. This nurse 
pays twelve to her nurse ; the nurse's nurse pays six 
dollars to her nurse ; the nurse's nurse's nurse pays 
three dollars, and so on till the amount dwindles 
down through eighteen-pence, nine-pence, four-and-a- 
half cents, until it reaches some fraction of a cent un- 
expressed by our currency. What is painful in this 
connection is, that either the dead baby must be 
reached before any such reduction, or else that some 
babies must get very imperfect nursing. 

Why, it is a frightful state of affairs, and certainly 
a subject for legislation. When Fashion begins to 
interfere with the laws of the public health, it is high 
time for the Legislature to step in. 

If any of these considerations may induce even one 
fashionable w^oman to stand against Fashion, or induce 
the Legislature to take the matter in hand, the writer's 
aim w^ill be accomplished. 



!40 WRITINGS OF 



THE WOODS AND FIELDS. 

C^o, stuj^id, you are going to Saratoga, to Sharon, to 
lialf-a-dozen out-of-the-waj places ! You are going to 
run innumerable risks, on American railroads, of being 
smashed up. And all for what ? Why, to get out of 
the hot and dusty town — to get sleep — to get fresh air, 
fresh fruit, fresh vegetabJes, country chickens, and 
quiet. You are tormented with an unresting desire 
for rest, and you want to see trees, grass, water, and 
butterflies, and to hear the singing of uncaged birds, 
the chirp of the cricket, to see grasshoppers and bees, 
sedate old cow^s, frisky colts running loose in fields, 
and the wind dreamily caressing the trees. You want 
to lay off in a sort of luxurious looseness or abandon^ 
as a Frenchman would say, without a care for the tie 
of your cravat or the need of a waistcoat. You want 
to swing in a hammock, lulled by the soft summer 
breeze, or lay lazily rocking in a boat. In short, you 
are tired of an Active life, energetic life, and want to 



GEORGE POLLEN. 241 

get into dreamland. You are tired of stern realities, 
and your poetic nature is aroused, and so you are 
going to the country. All very commendable indeed ; 
but why go so far to get what you can find much 
nearer home ? 

Within a brisk hour's ride from the city, with no 
need of trusting your precious life to the railroad, you 
may find all you want. Here, where we are, on the 
banks of the Hudson, with the silent old Palisades 
staring at us, their stern grandeur softened by a blue 
veil of " what is it," and hill and trees all about us, 
you can see and hear all the rural sights and sounds 
that you can desire. Even now, as we look up, we see 
a small boy, with a straw hat on, up in a cherry tree, 
and there's a tall girl, down in the garden, with a 
check-apron and sun-bonnet, picking currants. The 
luxurious trees are waving in the breeze ; a solitary 
cock is crowing his head off at the very untimely hour 
of 12 M., and a something or other is chirping away 
with a constancy that fairly tires one's nerves to listen 
to it. Here comes shirt-sleeved Jim, to say that " one 
of the 'osses his hout of the barn and runnin' hup the 
'ill," and Jemima, the chambermaid, says she's '' got 
the toothache and can't clean up them rooms, no how 
she can fix it." Meanwhile, Nature sleeps and dreams, 
or rather seems to do so. How like she is to the man 
of thought. He too seems an idler and a do-nothing 
to the noisy world — but it is only because, like 
Nature, he nuikes hunself known by what he effects, 
31 



242 WRITINGS OF 

not by his workings — the workings are imperceptible. 
Put a seed in the ground, and yon soon get tired of 
watching its growth. Slow^ okl Nature, you'll never 
produce anything — laggard, how^ tiresome you are — 
how you drawl everything out of you ! But time and 
patience, and that seed is a tree. And so said Newton 
in the intellectual world. It is " patient thought " 
that does the business. Patience, patience, and yet 
patience is a grand old lesson taught us by Nature, 
and how true it is that '^ tout le malheur des hommes 
ment cPune seule chose^ qui est de ne savoir pas de- 
■meurer en repos dans une chamhreP Put that in your 
pipe, young man, and smoke it, and you'll find that 
Pascal w^as right. 

The time of day in the country that w^e most 
delight in, is the afternoon near sunset. The mid-day 
heats are a little too fervent, the 2-o'clockers are a 
little more so, but when the sun has played himself 
out and feels so used-up that he wants to go to bed, 
that is the time of day for us. The breeze is fresher, 
and instead of tlie drowsy languor of noon you 
experience a sense of contented repose. We don't 
know why, but w^e always think of the face of tlie 
Madonna towards sim-set ; there is such a soft and 
pleasant melancholy about the decliue of the day, 
that even the sun himself may go down red and angry, 
and yet produce no corresponding effect on us. We 
feel calm, contented, and cheerful. But the spell is 
soon broken. Night, a hideous institution in the 



GEORGE POLLEN. 243 

country, comes with millers and bngs of all descrip- 
tions. The fire-flies in the trees look gay and interest- 
ing, but they get monotonous, and we don't want them 
in-doors. Then, if you go out to walk, and get 
belated, how spectral tlie trees look. The story of 
Jack the Giant-killer no longer seems a mere fable, 
and if you didn't keep stubbing your toes and tum- 
bling into gullies, you would be on a constant qui vive 
for ogres. You hurry home, and to avoid the terrible 
bugs about the candles, hurry into bed. To sleep ? 
No ! nor yet to dream, but to toss — to toss from one 
side of the bed to the other, to turn yourself upside 
down — to tumble out of your naiTow bed — to walk up 
and down your creaking room amidst the execration 
of your immediate neighbors. What makes the sheets 
so much hotter in the country than in the city ? If 
one could only strike a light — but the matches won't 
go off. Augh ! 3^ou've stubbed your toe aganist the 
iron bedstead, and go howling to bed again only to get 
up again. You would feel better if you only knew 
the time of night, but there's no moon, and though 
you twist your watch in all directions you are none the 
wiser. Soon the cocks begin to crow. Cheerful 
sound, from the heralds of the dawn. It will soon be 
daylight ! Not a bit of it ! cocks begin two hours 
before the dawn, and it's nothing but cock-a-doodle-doo 
for three hours after it. You hate cocks, and continue 
to hate them till — " rap, rap, rap — breakfast is ready." 
You look at your watch ; it is T o'clock. There's one 



244 WRITINGS OF 

comfort — you can aee your watch, but you go drearily 
to breakfast, and spend the day in staring about with 
lack-histre eyes. And how diflerently the country 
looks. The past night has entirely broken her charm. 

Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter. 
Tlie country is the place for day, but the city for 
night. You have, then, your choice, pleasant days 
and wTetched nights, or miserable days and pleasant 
nights — " chacun a S07i ideeP For our own part we 
go with Charles Lamb, who, when urged to give up 
drinking, replied that he didn't see that it made much 
difference whether he drank or not, except as a matter 
of choice ; for in one case he had glorious old nights 
with wretched mornings, and in the other, horrible 
nights with tolerable mornings, and for his pai't he 
preferred the glorious old nights. 

And what real beauty, after all, is there in these 
monotonous trees ? As much as there is in a pretty, 
but brainless girl, who, though you admire her at first, 
tires and ennuis you before you have kno"wn her two 
hours. Then the grass and flowers and water are all 
pretty enough, but where is their life ? Give us the 
crowd of human beings with their passions, say we. 
What ho ! for the city again. No matter for its heat, 
and noises intensified by heat ; anything for life. Let 
us live, and see life about us, instead of these eternally 
monotonous vegetables. What ho ! for the city. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 245 



A BOARDING-HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY. 

vV^iLL you have another tumbler ? " 

" Shall we pass up the lemons ? " 

We are certamly havmg a very lively time up here 
—whether it can be called a gay one, is a matter of 
taste. Some people like one kind of excitement; 
others like another. For our own part we like the 
other, providing it isn't the kind we are having here. 
And yet the present condition of affairs is unavoid- 
able under the present circumstances. As sure as that 
two and two make four, or that combustibles take lire 
when fire is applied to them, so sure must we go 
through the course of things that we are going 
through up here. Pack twenty individuals in one 
house, and leave them to their own resources. Give 
them the best food, and spring beds ; yet there will 
be a row in that house. Twenty individuals, with 
each one his peculiar ideas of matters and things- 
twenty individuals, heretofore strangers, and con- 



246 WRITINGS OF 

sequently ignorant each of the other's pculiarities — 
twenty individuals, each standing for his own rights ! 
"Why, we are almost inclined to believe that the late 
meteor was nothing more, after all, than a country 
boarding-house that had exploded under high pressure. 
Such a thing might happen, provided the boarders 
were all women. Fortunately, in the majority of the 
country institutions, there are always two or more 
men, who act as a sort of fly-wheel, and thus prevent 
serious results. But why should women prove such 
disturbing agents? Simply because they have no 
reason. You ask a woman for her reasons, and she 
always says " Because." You may press her still 
further, but she can never get beyond the " because." 
Because what? "Why, because." The fact is, she 
has no reasoning powers whatever, and you might as 
well attempt to reason with a mosquito as a woman. 
She stings you and flies away. She is governed 
entirely by her instincts, and the only way to manage 
her is to let her have her own way — in other words, 
not to manage her at all. We do not mean by this 
to decry the merits of women. On the contrary, let 
us " give the devil his due," and so we acknowledge 
that women are nice, pretty, soft little creatures, with 
a good taste for dress, fine perceptions of ornaments ; 
in short, that they are luxuries that every man who 
can afford it might as well possess. But you mustn't 
reason with them, any more than you would with your 
pet cat, and here the analogy becomes very strong, 



GEORGE POLLEN. 247 

for what after all is pnssy bnt a soft, lazy, luxurious 
animal that does nothing but take care of her person, 
and purr when you pet her, but of whom you must 
beware when she once gets her back up. 

Now, say we have ten of these luxurious animals 
in a house, with all their several little whims and 
caprices that must be gratified. Allow that each of 
these has what is called '' a husband " — a being of the 
male gender w^ho goes to town and works all day that 
he may dress this pet of his. He hardly gets into the 
house after his hard day's work, before his pet comes 
purring up to him — " Deary ! Mrs. So-and-so said so- 
and-so ; and Mrs. So-and-so did so-and-so ; and there 
was such a so-and-so, you can't think ; and I think 
Mrs. So-and-so oioght to be so and so'd — there^ that's 
what / think." If the husband attempts to reason 
with her, she begins to cry, and says he doesn't love 
her. If he trys to soothe her, she looks somewhat 
softened, but goes about looking like a woman bearing 
a load of affliction with the utmost patience and 
resignation. But if he simply says, with a firm and 
decided, " I'll see to it," she is proud of him, and goes 
about triumphant — her husband is not to be trifled 
with. And yet her husband, a man of experience, 
does not " see to it," and, in fact, don't think any 
thing more about it. The pet is satisfied, for she has 
what she wants — sympathy, and union of feeling. 

Here, then, are ten separate squabbles every night 
to be adjusted in some way or other, and ten couples 



248 WRITINGS OF 

off by tliemBelves in corners. Now, out of these ten 
husbands, there are perhaps two or three who act the 
judicious part, and neither say nor think any thing- 
more about it ; but the other seven, already harassed 
by their business affairs, are now egged on and 
exasperated to such a pitch that a universal row 
ensues, beginning with high words, and ending in cool 
non-recognition of one another. Each couple goes off 
to talk of their grievances, and the " Happy Family " 
in one cage is complete. 

"What is the remedy for such a state of affairs ? 
Tlie most apparent one is that the husband should 
come to the country only once a week ; but it is a 
fallacious one, for at the very suggestion, all the 
women are up in arms, and besides, the root of the 
evil not being removed, and the women having no 
protectors other than themselves, a general clawing 
would be the result. No, we must look a little deeper. 
A w^oman is a being of fine nervous temperament and 
high imaginative powers — both of them dangerous 
possessions, if not legitimately occupied. In the city 
or at large watering-places, they find their occupations 
naturally, and without any effort, but in a quiet 
country place they are entirely astray, and go poking 
about for something to get hold of. 

The billy-goat in the field opposite our window is 
an apt illustration. His mistress tied him, about a 
week ago, to a tree in the middle of a smooth grassy 
lawn. He had plenty of rope and plenty of grass, 



GEORGE POLLEN. 249 

but he spent his whole time in complaining and groan- 
ing over his unhappy fate. The only respite we had 
from his lamentations was his feeding-time. What 
could be the matter with Billy ? Nothing under the 
sun but the want of a rock. He had no place to 
exercise his climbing propensities, and so, of course, 
was miserable whenever he felt like climbing. A 
day or two since, a step-ladder was accidentally left 
within range of his rope. Billy immediately stopped 
crying, and began climbing. His rope hindered him 
from getting up more than three or four steps, and 
then he nearly broke his neck ; but his lamentations 
were at an end, for, at any rate, he could climb. 

And so let the women take a lesson from Billy. 
Let them give their restless faculties their legitimate 
occupation, and if no other course presents itself, let 
them adopt the following regimen : Instead of sitting 
in the house all day, let them take a long, brisk walk 
in the cool of the morning, and ditto in the cool of 
the evening. This will tone down their nervous 
system in a measure ; and then instead of looking at 
nothing but hem-stitch and crochet needles, let them 
give some attention to the beauties of nature, or read 
poetry, or do any thing in short that will exercise their 
imaginative faculties. At any rate, until they do 
something to exercise these irritating agents, we must 
expect groans and lamentations, and we beseech them 
to free us from the latter. Old Dr. Johnson said 
32 



250 



WRITINGS OF 



that " genius was nothing but natural powers acci- 
dentally directed," and a row is nothing, after all, 
but the result of natural powers misdirected. Oli 
dear ! " me wife is me wife, but me pipe is me com- 
fort." 



GEORGE POLLEN. 2$ I 



SHAKON SPRINGS. 

W E came here by the North River boat up the 
North River as far as Albany, whence we took the 
cars to Palatine Bridge, and thence by stage to our 
present moorings. We first attempted the "Pavil- 
ion ; " but " Sharon is full," so were obliged to put 
up with a '' Hole in the Wall.' ' 

" Sharon is full "—which means, that the " Pavil- 
ion " is ; for the Pavilion bears the same relation to 
Sharon that Paris does to France. It is the " cock 
of the roost," and if you're not a Pavilioner, you're 
nobody, and might as well be nowhere as be at 
Sharon. When Sharon is empty, Sharon is a very 
hard place to get in. The facilis decensus averni 
reversed is nothing to it, but when Sharon (of course 
we mean the Pavilion) is full, then — " Sharon is full." 

How many disconsolate wights have we seen drop 
their lower jaw at that terrible dictum^ " Sharon is 
full." In fact, the only wight there admitted is 



252 WRITINGS OF 

" broiled white," but that the Pavilion has every day 
for dinner. Of course the society here is rich, for it 
is the creme de la creme of New York, Philadelphia, 
Boston, and if there be any other town of any im- 
portance in the United States, Sharon has its repre- 
sentative. But it is harder to enter than Congress. 
You can get in there by going to Wisconsin or Kansas, 
&c., but no such indirect route leads to the Pavilion. 
No, indeed, you must have credentials of a higher 
order. At the Pavilion, everybody knows everybody 
else, and the lord of the manor know^s them all. 
" Oh, it is very nice, the society at the Pavilion. It 
is charming," said a young lady of the rose-bud order 
to us one day — " it is so charming to meet only people 
that you know." We like bread and butter occasion- 
ally. Another advantage of the Pavilion is — the dogs. 
You can't turn a corner without stepping on a dog's 
tail. These dogs are principally of the " black and 
tan order." These dogs would be an interesting study 
— but in hot weather dogs are too suggestive, and 
there's not one of them with a muzzle. We would 
rather face the mouth of one forty-pounder than those 
of forty dogs on a hot day. But the Pavilion is a 
" little kingdom of its own," and one word of expostu- 
lation, and off you go instead of the dogs. Besides 
its veneration for dogs in which it somewhat resembles 
the ancient Egyptians, only they worshiped cats, it on 
the contrary differs from them in another respect — that 
namely of caste. Servants as well as dogs are allowed 



GEORGE POLLEN. 253 

to '' range the house." We know that the United 
States is a Republic and a great country, and we 
believe in freedom and equality, but, singular to say, 
we don't believe in servants lolling about in easy arm- 
chairs or writing letters at the same table with you, or 
even in their grinning and cracking jokes at your 
expense. The result of this too great liberty is easy 
to be foreseen. The attendance becomes indifferent. 
These luxurious waiters acquire habts of indolence and 
carelessness. We acknowledge they are very good- 
natured with it all, for though they do nearly knock 
your eye out with a fork, drop the butter-knife into 
your pocket, and spill scalding tea over your thinly- 
breeched legs, still they console you with a good 
hearty laugh, which is very refreshing, coming as it 
does from the cause of all your mishaps. We have 
seen " High Life below stairs " on the stage, but we 
never saw the representation of '' Low Life up-stairs " 
before, and we must confess we don't like the piece. 

The Pavilion not only has its own peculiar govern- 
ment, but it likewise has its own religion. This is 
millenial, for it has but one church called the 
'* Union," and in this all sects and denominations may 
preach indiscriminately. The history of this church 
constitutes a singular episode in the annals of the 
Pavilion, and it may also be said to commenc^e a new 
era in the history of the world — for, since the Re- 
formation, no such great event has occurred as the 
union of all sects into one church. Its history may be 



2 54 WRITINGS OF 

briefly given as follows : It was certainly not more 
than a century ago tliat the adherents of the Pavilion 
besran to feel the need of a church. In a short time 
the necessary amount was raised by a subscription, and 
when hi steps an Episcopal clergyman asked for the 
money to build the church, the ruler of the Pavilion 
immediately " got his back up," and retorted that the 
object of the subscriptions was not to build the 
church, but a church, and in process of time his 
remark w^as verified by the appearance of "a neat 
and convenient edifice " on the Pavilion territory. 
Thus far it has been preached in tw^ce — once by a 
Presbyterian, and once again by a Presbyterian. 
Whether it is to be always a Presbyterian, remains to 
be seen ; but it is quite certain it will never be an 
Episcopalian, for that sect now have a church of their 
own — a very neat edifice, but not quite so " con- 
venient " nor commodious as the " Union." 

Notwithstanding all its peculiarities, Sharon is a 
most delightful place. The air is so exhilarating that 
you seem to drink in nectar at every draught. Cock- 
tails are consequently at a discount. I^ot only, too, 
are you exhilarated through your drinking apparatus, 
but your very eye is constantly fed. The country 
smiles on you with such a bright, joyous glance, and 
looks so benevolently and blandly at you, that even 
when you do tread on the " black and tan " tails, you 
have no inclination to kick their owners forty feet into 
the air with the interrogation, " What are you doing 



GEORGE POLLEN. 255 

there ? " On the coiitrarv you leave out the interroga- 
tion, and kick them a much shorter distance. The 
very countrymen of the place seem to be under its 
spell, or rather talk, for whenever you meet one, he 
accosts you with " How do you do, sir ? " The first 
time we were thus addressed by a man we had never 
seen before, we were somewhat astonished, to be sure, 
but we only shouted out in return, " Halloo ! how are 
you ? " as though w^e'd known him for centuries. 

There is one thing, however, that entirely exceeds 
our comprehension, and astonishes us much more than 
the cordial greetings of the countrymen. We find 
ourself constantly called " Uase,^^ " played out," 
and other equally ignominious appellations, merely 
because we are not seen all day and all night on the 
front piazza with the ladies. What in the name of 
common sense does a man go to the country for if it 
is to talk nonsense to ladies on front piazzas 'i We 
must confess we have yet to learn the fact, for we have 
not succeeded thus far in getting it into our stupid 
noddle. On the contrary, we believe man goes into 
the country for quiet and recruiting purposes. We 
believe in walks, in woods, in quiet nooks, in watching 
water trickling over the rocks, in looking at quiet old 
cow^s grazing on the hillsides, in contemplating sunsets 
and moon-risings. W^e believe in poking about alone 
and seeing grass and butterflies, and it is a great 
source of pleasure for us merely to see the gray hairs of 
aged dandelions scattered b}^ the wind. We like dear- 



256 WRITINGS OF 

\y, too, to hear bumblebees, provided tliej don't come 
too near, and the smell of a pine wood fairly enchants 
us. What, in short, is it but the country itself that 
man goes into the country for ? The rustle of silks 
and the twaddle of women you can get in the city. 
We don't care in the country whether Mrs. So-and-so 
is dressed better than Mrs. What-you-call-her ; uor for 
tea-fights in low, dingy rooms, with dirty tallow 
candles sputtering out bad smells, nor for rolling ten- 
pins in close alleys, nor billiard-playing under ground. 
We came to the country to get out of all this. We 
shun the hum of men to hear the hum of nature, 
and so — we are '' Jte^ / " Well, we only hope w^e'll 
keep so. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 257 



SOCIETY AT SHAEON. 

J-^LLAH akbar ! " We are at length in the " Pavil- 
ion." We are somebody, and we expand with the 
thought. We have left the Hole-in-the-Wall, and now 
form one of that select and elegant coterie which 
decorates " the front piazza." We do not, to be suie, 
take any prominent part in the proceedings, but we 
have the privilege of gracing the walls, and as we are 
modest we do not even avail ourselves of that privi- 
lege. We merely peep in at the windows : " Sister 
Anne, what do you see ? " " We see a great cloud of 
muslin." " Any thing else ? " " ^N^ot much." 

But though we at length live in the '' Pavilion," 
we do not constitute one of the fixtures. We do 
occasionally get out of it, and the result of these occa- 
sional movements is a slight iiicrease in our topo- 
graphical knowledge of the place. The Pavilioners, 
as a general rule, know that there are Springs here, 
for that knowledge is part of their formula. They are 
33 



258 , WRITINGS OF 

expected to go dowD there before each meal, whether 
they imbibe or not. That done, they can get back to 
tlieir front piazza again, and the ardor with w^hich 
they perform the latter movement is one of the sights 
to be seen. Wherever w^e go or whatever we do, we 
are always sure to be on band to witness this perform- 
ance. The front piazza is their world, and the village 
of Sharon Springs (we must ourselves acknowledge it) 
is not worthy of their notice. Bat judge for your- 
selves. The village is situated in a sort of a valley on 
the top of a hill in the midst of a crowd of other hills, 
some smaller and some longer and some not so much 
so. It consists of biit one street with houses longer 
and shorter on either side, and to the eye of the 
observer, from the top of Sunset Hill, it looks very 
much like a train of cars, with the Pavilion for a 
locomotive, off' the track. But if the observer follows 
the road till he gets in the rear of the village, it then 
presents the appearance of a lot of houses down in a 
hole, all huddled together to keep warm ; and if it be 
a cold day, the observer always wishes himself down 
there. What is going on in these houses is not so 
difficult to say, for you may be pretty certain that it is 
either washing and ironing or twaddling on the 
piazzas, for Sharon Springs is nothing but a collection 
of hotels, boarding-houses and washwomen. It is true 
that we heard one' of the inhabitants say the other day 
that he drove a " be-risk-te-rade," but on following 
him up, we found that his " be-risk-te-rade " consisted 



GEORGE POLLEN. 259 

in selling pennyworths of candy and three-cent glasses 
of Liger bier. So that thongh their sale may have 
kept him brisk and lively, the re(;eipts con Id hardly 
be said to be commensurate with his exertions. There 
is also an individual here who prosecutes the following 
singular avocations. lie is a " fancy sign, landscape, 
banner, flag and shade artist, cutter, painter and 
grainer." This man must have someting to do, and 
judging by analogy, from the variety of articles we 
have seen in one country store here, there must 
certainly be also some " admirable Crichton " of a 
man, who combines the lawyer, doctor and minister in 
his single person. This, however, we have no author- 
ity for, further than surmise. We know there are two 
distinct doctor shops here, but the most notable and 
promising sign we saw about them was that they were 
always shut up. 

The great staple, however, of Sharon Springs, is 
sulphur water. This extraordinary product is said to 
have been discovered by sick Indians, and they are 
said to have found it by their instinct, but we wouldn't 
give two pence for such instinct, for any man with a 
nose could perform the same feat. These infernal brim- 
stone springs have an attendant imp in the shape of 
marshy ground, and on our very first visit to them we 
received its particular attentions, for having passed the 
spring and its horrible odors, we gave a bound of 
delight upon the grassy sward, and found ourselves 



26o WRITINGS OF 

knee-deep in the mud — white trousers, too. So we 
Avent home amid the jeers of the populace. 

But the great charm of Sharon lies in its views and 
its sheep, and they are equally sublime. If there be 
any preference we w^ould give it to the sheep. We can 
now sympathize with " little Bo-peep, who lost her 
sheep, and didn't know where to find them." We 
no longer wonder at the grief the poor child must 
have suffered. She had probably lived on just such 
mutton as we are now living on. Think, then, w^hat 
her loss must have been ? Mutton which fairly melts 
in your mouth, and that frequently too. Mutton for 
bj-eakfast, mutton for dinner, and mutton for supper. 
The only time when mutton is left out is at the meal 
called " tea," and then we have raspberries. But 
laissons nos moutons et revenons to the " Pavilion," 
and yet we don't like to go there. We feel that we 
were not constructed on " high society " principles. 
We believe " there is a time to dance," but then we 
don't believe it's all the time ; and when we want to 
sneeze, we should like to be able to do it. Indeed 
we have already made a most terrible blunder since we 
came here. Having noticed a very benevolent-looking 
old lady making herself very conspicuous among the 
guests, we were deceived by her actions and appear- 
ance into the belief that she was the landlady of the 
house, and having been somewhat discontented w^ith 
the appearance of the raspberries at tea, we took it 



GEORGE POLLEN. 261 

upon ourselves to express our utter disapprobation of 
any such proceedings. At the same time we mildly 
suggested our conviction of the fact that berries of all 
kinds were of a rural nature, and consequently ought 
to be found good in the country ; likewise that they 
w^ere much better fresh than when stale and squashy. 
The efiect of our exordium w^as most extraordinary. 
The hitherto eternal smile on her face kept subsiding 
and subsiding, until it finally became entirely sub- 
sidiary to an awful placidity — no, not placidity. The 
ocean is placid sometimes, and sometimes it is very 
much wrinkled, and this old lady's face was very 
suggestive of " ocean's frown." The old lady frowned 
and then went off in a tornado movement. We were 
very much bothered by this reception of our sugges- 
tions, but were shortly after taken to task for having 
made " such an awful mistake," and were informed 
that the old lady " would never forgive us." This 
was very distressing, and, at the same time, a very fine 
beginning to make in " high society." 

It appears that each of the watering places has one 
of these lady-supervisors. Their business (an entirely 
self-imposed one, by the by) is — to be the first one on 
hand at the place, then to welcome all the guests, then 
get rooms for them or show them to those they've 
already engaged, and then fuss about and make every 
body happy. Whether their efforts are successful is 
another question, but we cannot see why they should 
be so indignant at being addressed by the title of 



262 WRITINGS OF 

" landlady," when they, in reality, perform all tlie 
functions. For our own part, indeed, we cannot see 
why a landlord or landlady is not as good as any body 
else ; but then we are not ait fait^ so that, of course, 
accounts for our want of discernment. Having, how- 
ever, stumbled on this new variety of female human- 
ity, we have taken the liberty to study it. Our 
conclusion is, that good nature is a great institution ; 
but a question arises : Is good-nature ^^^7* se sufficient ? 
Does not the human heart crave {as romantic young 
ladies would say) something in addition ? We humbly 
think it does. It wants good nature to be guided by 
good sense. But, then, we forget ourselves, for what 
is " society " {so-called) but a mass of inconsistencies. 
We only wonder they didn't call it " inconsistency," 
instead of " society ; " but, then, we forget again, for 
if they had, they w^ould have been consistent, and so 
it wouldn't be " society." Society ! — ^^we're in society 
now^, and we have the honor to sign ourself at 
length a Pavilioner. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 263 



CHARMS OF THE COUNTRY. 

W E have been poking about tbe watering-places 
long enough. We're tired of city life, so have come to 
the country. We know we shall be put down for our 
impertinence in taking so audacious a step, but we are 
" on our high horse " now, and the fashion can't stop 
us. We know it is not the " ton " to go in the coun- 
try. We know that the " ton," in the summer season, 
is to infest big piazzas, to get strangled in small bed- 
rooms, to go wild with the clash of crockery, and to 
get— nothing to eat. But we're not on the " ton " 
just now. We've seen enough of millinery and silk 
dresses, and enough of very light cassimere pants, 
vests, and coats to match. We've been inspected 
enough through plain glass eye-glasses for not wearing 
the same material, and we've been snubbed enough 
for the same reason. We have discovered, that to 
glory in a clean shirt every morning is not enough for 
watering-places, and that the clean shirt must be 



264 WRITINGS OF 

accompanied by the light cassimere clothes. We have 
seen enough of watering-place society, with its 
brazen lady-landladies. We've set;n enough selfish- 
ness, pseudo-reiinemenU and false gilding. We know 
well enough that all the young girls go there for rich 
husbands, and all the young men for rich wives. We 
also know that both parties get frequently " sold," and 
that all would be in the same category except for 
a few manoeiivring mammas. It is wonderful, 
the amount of penetration possessed by these same 
mammas. The papas are all bored ; they want to 
get home to do business ; they don't like this " sort of 
thing ; " but the mamma says, " No, dear ; we must 
get them married off. Don't you see, dear?" And 
papa goes off and plays whist, to keep from dying of 
ennui. Yes, we've had enough of all this stuff, and 
so we've come to the country. One week in it has 
made us a different man. The looking-glass no longer 
shows every morning a thin, cadaverous face, with a 
pair of dead eyes. To be sure, our face is still thin, 
but there is a faint, promising flush on the cheek, and 
the eyes are waking up. '' Rome was not built in a 
day," neither do we expect to fill the caverns in our 
cheeks in a week, but we know that the work is 
already commenced. We have got a new sensation — 
hunger. We actually get hungry occasionally. This 
would be a lamentable occurrence at a waterhig-place ; 
but here, Nature abhors vacuum, and has supplied 
plenty of pleasures to fill it. Eggs that you can pick 



GEORGE POLLEN. 265 

yourself, — for eggs grow, as well as any thing else. 
They are the natural products of barns, cabbage- 
gardens, and all out-of-the-way places. You take a 
piece of chalk, the shape and size of an egg, put it in 
an out-of-the-way corner, and not long after you'll 
have a crop of eggs. Then, there are chickens, which 
are nothing but ripe eggs. Eggs turned by some 
process of Nature into *chicken-meat, bones and feath- 
ers ; and very different they are from the things called 
" chicken " in the city. The country chicken is no 
antediluvian, shrivelled-up fossil of a spread eagle ; it 
is a plump, juicy institution, that makes your mouth 
water to look at it. Then, there's milk : not the 
mineral — no limestone production, but an animal 
liquid, daily supplied by an amiable old creature called 
a " cow." But then, such butter ! It always used to 
bother us where butter came from. Our idea was 
that it must have come from a salt mine, mixed up 
in some inscrutable way with tubs. But it appears 
that butter is made by women. We happened one 
day to be out in a place called the " wood-house," 
where a very singular occurrence took place. A 
woman who was there put on an apron, and then 
proceeded towards a singular-looking institution with 
a stick in it ; she began working it up and down as 
though her very life depended on the operation. 
" What in the name of wonder are you doing there ? " 
said we. " Making butter, you fool ! " Being in 
pursuit of knowledge, we disregarded the superfluous 
34 



266 WRITINGS OF 

appellation, and mildly asked her the rationale of the 
process ; when, to our astonishment, she wheeled upon 
us, and delivered herself of the following remarkable 
sentiment : " Naow, look a-here. Mister ; I don't 
warnt none of yaour gas. You've been a-follering me 
areound and areound ever since yaou've been here, 
and I won't steand it no longer. Naow go ! " We 
went, but we know one thing — butter is made by 
women, in some way or other. 

One of our greatest delights here is to get in an 
old barn, and then get up on top of a pile of hay. 
Why we like it, we can't for the life of us tell ; but 
we can sit on top of a lot of hay for honrs, without 
feeling the least ennui. We seem to have a particular 
predilection for hay, for we are very fond of going 
out into the fields to see the men mow. We came 
near getting scythed down, though, the other day, 
having got on the wrong side of the instrument ; and 
this circumstance has somewhat modified our enthusi- 
asm. In fact, of late we content ourselves with sitting 
on a fence, and watching the scythers at a respectable 
distance. 

Then, the jolly old drives up here. We wonder 
who invented old wagons, with wooden springs, and a 
buffalo-robe on each seat. None of your sleepy 
barouches for us. Give us, say we, a good, easy jolt 
on the buffalo-robes. It stirs one up amazingly, and 
you see ten times more of the country than out of a 
barouche. And then, if you've got a pretty girl next 



GEORGE POLLEN. 267 

to you, how you can make Jove ! Love ! Oh, love ! 
there's another sensation we've got since we've been 
here. We thought we'd outlived " love," and all that 
sort of thing. We thought we'd got callous, and that 
our heart was withered, &c. ; but it appears that we 
were only bottled up. The formal drawing-room 
young ladies never had any effect on us. But here 
we come to the country, and, to our astonishment, we 
experience extraordinary sensations. We see a young 
girl with sun-burnt face in a sun-bonnet, and we accost 
her with the same indifference that we have always 
felt towards the petticoat tribe. Do we? No, we 
don't. We don't feel quite so easy as usual. We see 
a pair of confiding eyes and a little iimocent mouth, 
and we don't know how it happens, but we're " not 
ourself at all." We feel " quenched," as it were, 
and very much agitated. The blood, that before was 
stagnant in our veins, seems to wake up and run about 
us like wildfire. In short, it actually circulates, which 
is more than could be said of it for many a year ; and 
all this brought about by a sun-bonnet and a sun- 
burnt face. No, it was the mouth and eyes that did 
it, and the warm little face. Thank you, my dear, for 
the sensation ; you've made us feel like old times. 
But this will never do. A fresh nature like yours 
should never be mated with a hlase man ; and we 
wouldn't impose on you, my dear, even though we see 
you might easily be imposed on. Oh, it's all very 



268 WRITINGS OF 

well to talk of indications in us that have lately 
appeared, but they're only flickerings, my dear, and 
town life will soon put them all out. To-morow we'll 
get out " Bacon," and read philosophy. Yes, we'll 
not go near this siren. But, then, what happens to- 
morrow ? Why, to-morrow we don't eat as much 
breakfast as usual, and our cigar is very flat. We 
think we'll take a little stroll and, perhaps, we'll feel 
more like going at " Bacon." We take a little stroll, 
but how very extraordinary that we should see our 
little siren ! What an extraordinary circumstance ! — 
that we should be at home the very time she's always 
at home. Very singular, to be sure. Bah ! who's 
going to be tied to a woman ? Who ? Yes, who ? 
Well, whoever is, why shouldn't he be? If being 
tied to a woman promotes happiness, why shouldn't a 
man get tied ? JVot to get tied to a woman, is inde- 
pendence ; but independence is only an idea. Why, 
then, be a slave to an idea, rather than to a woman ? 
What's an idea ? An idea ! We've not the slightest 
idea. But a woman ! — a soft, gentle creature, who 
looks at you out of a pair of eyes that remind you of 
wells, whose very heart seems at the bottom of them, 
and who causes you extraordinary sensations. Isn't it 
better to be tied to such a tangible institution, than to 
a mere intangible thing called an idea, a cold, abstract 
sort of concern ? But, then, suppose she don't keep 
looking at you, as she does now. Suppose she don't 



GEORGE POLLEN. 269 

continue to cause emotions. Suppose she's only a 
temporary stir-up. Horrible thought ! We are dis- 
tracted by conflicting emotions. Ah ! here's Shake- 
speare ; he'll decide it. Well, what say you ? " Wom- 
an, thy name is frailty." Hum ! — To-morrow we go to 
Saratoga. 



270 WRITINGS OF 



A BALLAD 

ON A LITTLE GIRL WHO WAS BURNED TO DEATH, JULY 5TH. 

jLt was a bright and sunny day — 

I saw a little girl, 
Who sang, and danced, and laughed away, 

Showing her teeth of pearl. 

Oh, bright the little creature was — 

Her eyes like dew-drops gleamed. 
And in her dress of simple white. 

So innocent she seemed. 

The little, gentle, dainty thing. 

She seemed more like a sprite, 
With her delicate and graceful form. 

And skin so soft and white. 

I passed her by with gentle care — 

I passed her tenderly. 
Lest the least touch might blight a bud 

So fair and frail as she. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 27 1 

Merrily shone the sun that day, 

And merrily laughed she, 
And merrily my heart did beat, 

That merry sight to see. 

But hardly was I out of sight, 

When I heard a dreadful cry : 
I hear it yet — It burns my brain — 

" I'm on fire !— Oh, help !— I die ! " 

A chill went shivering through my heart ; 

I turned me quick, and saw, 
All wrapped in fierce, devouring flames, 

That little tender flower. 

I saw a gallant man rush forth. 

And strive to quench the flame, 
Tear ofl* his coat, and wrap it round 

The little gentle frame. 

Alas ! the wind was strong and fresh. 

The gallant man too late ; 
The flames remorselessly preyed on. 

And left her to her fate. 

Poor child ! the flames unpitying were. 
They parched her with their breath ; 

In the first blush of childhood's joy 
They sent her down to death. 

But she's gone where her mother has gone before — 

She has gone to a place of rest ; 
And the dear little creature is now at peace, 

With her head on her mother's breast. 



272 WRITINGS OF 



FOR THAT YOUNG WOMAN. 

VV OULD you allow us, through your columns, to 
suggest the discontinuance of a " most grievous and 
crying nuisance ? " It is one, we believe, without 
the pale of the law, but yet not without that of 
common charity ; and in the name of that common 
charity we do most earnestly beseech that individual 
who has the room next to us to desist singing lugu- 
brious songs. We don't ask her to " dry up " totally, 
but specifically. We only beg her to change the 
melody. We have no doubt she is a very unhappy 
indi\ddual, and we sympathize with her in her woe 
to a reasonable extent ; but we do not acknowledge 
her right to make us irretrievably unhappy. We 
have our woes as well as she ; and that is by no 
means the least one of them that is occasioned by 
her publication of her woes. 

If, however, it proves a real happiness to her, and 
if she really pours out all her woe by singing Ingu- 



GEORGE POLLEN. 2 7$ 

brious songs, we would be the last to object to it, 
and hope she will pay no attention whatever to our 
request ; but if she would only modify our misery 
a little by singing a little lower {that is, of course, if 
the modification will he attended hy a like result in her 
case), we are certain she would add materially to our 
happiness. 

She has undoubtedly a very fine voice, and has 
certainly succeeded in the pathetic muse. Might we 
humbly suggest an attempt in a more lively strain ? 
With all due respect for her vocal powers as powers, 
and quavers as quavers, we remain, hers, nervously 
and quaveringly. 
35 



274 WRITINGS OF 



PAGES FEOM THE DIARY OF A LADY'S 

MAN. 

Sunday. — Woke up this morning at 11. Put on my 
new doeskins. They set beautifully over the boot — 
not a wrinkle in the leg, nor a speck of dust to mar 
their shining blackness I Then, my handsome fancy 
vest, with lapelled pockets and single-breasted {doubU- 
'breasted is becoming vulgar)^ with plain buttons is 
decidedly out/re. It took me some time to decide 
which cravat to wear, but finally concluded to don 
my spotless black. Brushed my hair forward as usual, 
with a delicate jpart behind. It was then 3 P. M. 
Half an hour after, the gong sounded for dinner. It 
seems to me very vulgar to eat like common people. 

Saw Araminta. She looked chai-mingly ! She 
was dressed in a beautiful silk, with a pure -white 
stomacher, and a sweet head-dress trimmed with 
" Brusssels." The gems in her bracelet w^ere superb^ 
and the diamonds on her taper fingers outshone her 



GEORGE POLLEN. 275 

jewelled eyes. Besides, she's an heiress — 10,000 a 
year. "What an addition ! Why, I could import all 
my coats from Paris ; I could dress superbly^ and how 
the " beau monde " would admire us ! She is a charm- 
ing girl. After dinner strolled down Broadway to 
Grace church ; saw Laura, Maria, and Wilhelmina just 
coming out. All three bowed sweetly. I then met 
Araminta, whom I joined. How my heart palpitated ! 
She has such ** a love of a hat." She is going to 
" the Opera " to-morrow evening, and I must surely 
be there. She told me what dress she will appear in ; 
and I talked about our young ladies, " so beautiful, 
but so infinitely inferior to her." She smiled sweetly^ 
and gazed into my face so lovingly, that I could 
hardly refrain from asking her an important question. 
But I must exercise more control over my feelings. 
Her property may be mortgaged ! After a short walk 
we parted, and I sauntered slowly to my hotel, 
{opposite Union Park). Sunday evenings are so tii-e- 
some ! But, to the material world ! I must contrive 
some way of replenishing my purse ; it jingles dole- 
fully, and always has a gaping mouth and empty 
stomach. Thank fortune, I have yet one more pair of 
" patents." 

Monday. — Awoke this morning at 1 A. M. Was 
too indolent to dress, so lay in bed and read Dumas' 
last novel. His views of society are charming. If 
we could only have a second Paris here ! My dinner 
was brought to me at 3, as usual. After dinner I went 



276 WRITINGS OF 

to the window and looked out. It was snowing, and 
as the flakes dropped silently to the pavement, I saw 
Araminta pass. Heavens ! in a snow-storm with her 
new bonnet and pelisse ! I seized my small green silk 
para^luie, and at length overtook her. Alas ! it was 
too small for both, t did not gape like a " bumpkin," 
nor apologize like a fool — some people are so absurd — 
but I shielded her with it from the snow, and went 
myself unprotected. She at length noticed my un- 
sheltered condition, but as we were within two or 
three steps of her dwelling, it was " of no conse- 
quence." 

In the evening, went to " the Opera," that delight- 
fal place, the rich man's treasury. I had such a 
'' delightful " talk with Araminta. She whispered to 
me from behind her fan, and said-^it was very warm. 
Looking up inadvertently, I saw a tall, rough-looking 
man, without gloves, holding a hat with a black 
lining, and attentively regarding us. I thought at 
first that it must be some horrible wretch thus to 
violate the laws of decorum. I asked " Arry " if she 
knew who he was, and she said he was her — father. 
How people are deceived by appearances ! He must, 
of course, be a gentleman^ for he is worth several 
hundred thousand. I must be introduced to him. 

During the interval between the acts, visited 
several ladies. How I am received everywhere ! I 
am the admired pet and lap-dog of the ladies ! I 
could select any one of them as my partner for life. 



GEOR(JK POLLEN. 2 77 

Came home very sleepy, and retired quite early, to 
prepare myself for to-morrow evening, as I must then 
accept invitations to three parties. 

Tuesday. — After a long, dismal day spent in try- 
ing on my new suit of black, which I found to sit 
sujperhly^ evening came, and at 10 P. M. started to 
make my rounds. I dance the polka delightfully, as 
well as the redowa and mazourka — thus had the 
pleasure of pressing my dear " Arry " close to this 
devoted heart— for I find that reports are true, and 
that she will come in possession of her property on 
her next bu-thday. I must bring matters quickly to 
a close. Let me see — to-morrow evening I'll see her 

at "the Opera;" Thursday at Mrs. B 's party; 

and then Friday at " the Opera " again, when I will 
propose. Came home worn-out and feeling miserably. 
Retired at 3 A. M. 

Wednesday. — Awoke with a bad headache ; how- 
ever, dressed myself in time for the afternoon prome- 
nade. Met several ladies, some of whom I joined, 
but found none equal to Arry. Came home, cleared 
my complexion with Roussel's admirable preparation. 
Really, that Roussel is a benefactor to mankind. 
Dressed myself most becomingly, and went to "the 
Opera." I looked pale and interesting. Arry com- 
plimented me on my " distingue " appearance. Wom- 
en are truly angels, and always tell the truth so 
delightfully. As I was escorting Arry to her carriage, 
a 7)1(171 stepped on my "patents," and soiled them. 



278 WRITINGS OF 

The man appeared embarrassed, and begged my 
pardon, but I looked very fiercely at liim, when I saw 
that he was frightened ; and it all passed off admi- 
rably, for I had the satisfaction of hearing Arry tell 
her friend " how courageously he acted." After 
reaching home, felt dull, so took some wine with a 
friend. Eetired at 2.15 A. M. 

Thursday. — I felt miserably all day, so did noth- 
ing. In the evening, however, I brightened up, and 

went to Mrs. B 's. Danced until 1, and then left 

for home. My head feels very unpleasant, and my 
hand trembles so that I can scarcely trace a letter ; so 
I'll not write any more to-day. To-morrow night Arry 
will be mine ! 



[Note. — The unhappy writer of the above started 
for " the Opera " on Friday evening, after having 
been confined to his bed all day. When the coach- 
man opened the door of the carriage, he found his 
master, lying back, with one hand on his forehead, 
and the odier placed on a rent in the knee of his 
pantaloons. He had probably torn them while enter- 
ing the carriage, and his already excited feelings, 
with pride and mortification combined, were without 
doubt the cause of his death, lie was immediately 
conveyed home, and proper remedies were resorted to, 
but he never breathed again.] 



GEORGE POLLEN. 279 



LEBANON AND THE SHAKEES. 

JZLavino concluded to go to Lebanon Springs with 
a friend, to spend the Fourth of July— a day ever 
memorable in the annals of our country — agreed to 
meet him at the depot in time to take the cars at 8 
o'clock A. M. "We were to meet there at 7.30 ; but 
balmy sleep had so fettered me with her silken cords, 
that I hadn't the strength to break them as early as I 
should have done. We succeeded, however, in obtain- 
ing seats. 

It was a cloudy morning, commencing early to 
rain pitchforks, gradually subsiding into a comfortable 
drizzle, and then ending off in clouds, so that the 
aspect of affairs was rather unpleasant as far as 
regarded the weather ; but we had that within which 
manfully carried us through the storm, and that was— 
the buoyancy and hopefulness of youth. As we 
rattled along over the rails, we anxiously watched the 
sky, hoping that our endeavors might be crowned 



28o WRITINGS OF 

witli a glimpse of ethereal blue ; but we saw nothing 
but gray clouds, which lent a sombre look to the 
beautiful scenery through which we passed, though at 
times the mountain-tops covered with fog presented a 
beautiful spectacle, which we would have missed had 
it been a clear day. 

After reaching Bridgeport we changed cars for 
the Housatonic railway. On this road the scenery 
became more beautiful than any we had yet seen ; and 
passing up the valley of the Housatonic, and through 
the Berkshire Hills, it seemed, at times, enchanting. 
At length we reached Pittsfield, where we took seats 
for Lebanon in a barouche, on the back seat of which 
were two interesting old ladies, who beguiled the 
tedium of the way by their remarks on the beauties 
of Nature, especially flowering grass, all the various 
botanical genera, species, &c. One of the ladies 
seemed almost too well acquainted with them for our 
comfort, for she gave such minute descriptions, that 
our poor ear was tired to death with listening. 
Now, to some scrupulously delicate individuals, the 
fact of our listening may seem a great breach of polite- 
ness, inausmuch as the conversation was not apparently 
directed to us. But when two individuals find two 
old ladies leaning on their four knees in their endeav- 
ors to see flowering grasses, both of these individuals 
must, if they follow the course of Nature, be very 
anxious to know what the old ladies are looking: at. 

And now, having ascended a long hill, we begin 



GEORGE POLLEN. 28 1 

to descend, and, in process of time, reached Lebanon, 
wliicli we found to be situated on the side of a hill, 
commanding a splendid view of the surrounding 
country. 

The next morning, being the ever-living Fourth of 
July, awoke after a sleepless night caused by the firing 
of cannon and ringing of about fifty bells. About 
half past five there was a cessation of rejoicings, which 
made me rejoice exceedingly, and I rolled back to old 
Somnus with a glad heart, and in his arms courted 
" balmy sleep." 

In the afternoon went to see the Shakers. We 
walked through a charming country, all of which 
delighted us, but it w^as up hill all the Vay. The 
place is kept with wonderful neatness. Even before 
we reach the village, the hand of the Shaker may be 
seen in the w^isps of straw wrapped around the trees to 
prevent injury from the bugs; the long stone wall, 
and the fields closely mowed. The village itself is 
composed of from twenty to thirty houses, of which 
each contams swarms of Shakers — the sexes separated, 
of course. We walked on to a store, where a very 
pretty woman attended, who smilingly welcomed us 
with the pure look of benevolence, and sold us maple 
sugar, etc. Passing a house, my eye was caught by 
that of a fair damsel who was kneading dougli, but it 
needed only one glance for me, and I was '* done for." 
Such a beautiful and loving expression I have never 
before met with, and I meditated, at the moment, 
36 



282 WRITINGS OF 

strong resolves of rescuing her from the cold-blooded 
set. On our way back, the country looked perfectly 
lovely — the an* redolent of buckwheat sweets and 
perfume of flowers, mingled with the sweet-scented 
clover, regaled the nose ; while the ear fed by the 
lowing of cows and other rural sounds, and the eye 
fairly revelled as it rolled over the glorious prospects 
before us. 

We reach the hotel in time for tea. Our poor 
darkey had stood behind our chairs foi- the last hour, 
faithful as Casablanca to his post. 

It now being Sunday, and having heard a great 
deal of the Shaker form of worship, we concluded to 
go to-day, and see for ourselves if the ceremonies were 
as ridiculous as they have been rej)resented to be. 
It was a glorious morning, and we rode on the top of 
the stage, while party after party followed in their 
own and other conveyances. We soon reached the 
meeting-house, which we found to be a good-sized 
building kept in the neatest order — tlie floors scrubbed 
and polished imtil they shone, and two old Shakers 
sitting by a stove, silently contemplating us as we 
entered. We took our seats, separated by a rail from 
the ladies, and waited patiently for the performance to 
commence. 

Looking around we saw four holes, or rather slits, 
in the wall, through which, we were told, four elders 
peeped to see that all was right, and that no random 
glances proceeded from the Shakeresses. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 283 

Pretty soon the Shakers began to flock in — the 
men in shirt sleeves (generally), with the hair cut 
short over the forehead, but hanging long behind ; and 
the women with white caps and neckerchiefs, and the 
waists of their dresses up to their bosoms, and high- 
heeled shoes on their feet. 

Having taken their seats, the men on one side and 
the women on the other side of the room, both sexes 
facing, they commenced by singing. Then, all arose 
and stood, the sexes facing each other, forming diverg- 
ent lines from the back to the front part of the floor, 
when one of the men stepped in the opening between 
the sexes, and harangued them. They then sang 
again, and then all turned their backs to the specta- 
tors, and commenced dancing forwards and backwards 
to the tune of the " Bould soldier bo}^," and one some- 
thing like " Oh, Susannah," meanwhile moving their 
liands up and down before them. Then they faced 
about again, and the men, pairing oflT, commenced 
marching, the women following them, while the 
young girls formed a ring in the centre of the room 
in the same manner. Thus there was a large ring of 
old Shakers around the outskirts of the room, and a 
small one of the young ones in the centre. These all 
danced after each other, singing, and raising their 
hands up and down. Some seemed as though they 
were exalted to the skies, and worked their bodies in 
a most furious manner. One little old man was lame, 
and his movements were painfully ridiculous. Every 



284 WRITINGS OF 

now and then you could distinguish the following line 
plainly sung at the top of their voices : 

" I want a piece of pie." 

I don't suppose those were the words, but, tliough 
I tried to iind what they really were, I w^as always 
answered by 

" I want a piece of pie," 

At length they came to a stop, and all seated 
themselves, while sighs and long breaths from ex- 
haustion were heard throughout the room. Then, 
several in turn addressed the meeting. One of them 
twisted passages from the Scripture into such strange 
forms, that 1 wondered how the Shakers themselves 
could keep their faces. Another in turn exclaimed 
that he was " safe, positively safe," and wxnt on telling 
his experience. 

And finally, another arose, and told us we were 
dismissed, after thanking us for our attention during 
their services. 

They are, indeed, a singular people. Their system 
seems to be an excellent one. Would they only 
abolish their peculiarities — the obnoxious ones, I mean 
— and live on the principle of equality of property 
and equality of works, and the subjection of their 
bodies to their minds, their system, in my humble 
opinion, would be productive of much happiness. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



285 



They surely would then be capable of doing a great 
deal of good. 

To-morrow we return home, loath to leave Lebanon, 
to which the pleasantness of the place has strongly 
endeared us. 




286 WRITINGS OF 



EARLY DAYS 



Oh, 



for the days when I w^as yet a boy, 
When life was fresh, and naught but pleasure gave ; 
When the bright stars did hold me, gazing long, 
Not in the wonder of stupidity. 
But as entranced by their great mystery ; 
When with full heart I felt — I know not what — 
Save a vague wish to clasp in my embrace 
The world and stars, and all that they contained — 
A sense of keen and exquisite delight — 
A longing for the freedom of the air — 
When I did hate the close and impure town. 
And the false pleasures its infection breeds. 
And found true pleasure in simplicity. 
In manners imcorrupt, and open ways. 

Why, when a boy I found great happiness 

In the caresses of the summer air. 

As I lay, careless, on some grassy hill. 

Or watched the sun stiJl lingering hi the sky. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 287 

Clothing with splendor the enchanted earth, 

Or e'en by day, passing the sunny hours 

Chasing the bumblebee or butterfly. 

Stopping, perhaps, to taste the sweetbrier's sweets, 

Perhaps to blow the dandelion's down. 

And see it float away upon the air. 

Or quench my thirst in some cool shaded spring. 

Pleasant the frolics, too, among the woods, 

With country damsels fresh with ruddy health ; 

Pleasant the fishing in the quiet lake, 

Or for the speckled trout in some black stream. 

And then, the flavor of the coarse brown bread. 

Rendered delicious by keen appetite. 

With the mysterious butter in the loaf. 

Oh, for those days when, fresh with youth and health, 

I spurned the lazy luxury of bed. 

And in the freshness of the early morn. 

Sprang up to meet the coming of the day, 

Flung up the sash arid drank the morning air, 

Quaffing deep draughts of life and health and strength. 

And, springing on my saddled steed, did ride 

Full tilt o'er hill and plain, the country round. 

The generous steed sharing the pleasures too. 

Excited, snorting, flies along the road. 

Hey ! on, faster and faster on we go — 

Until the overflow of spirit spent. 

We settle down into a calmer mood. 

And taste the pleasures of well-earned repose. 

Alas ! those glorious days are past and gone — 

The generous blood that once gave warmth and life, 



288 WRITINGS OF 

The ruddy cheek and springy step are gone, 
And naught remains but languor and decay. 
Or, if the weary mind revives the past, 
And feels a moment's strength — it lives again— 
Alas ! 'tis but the flicker of the light, 
And all seems darker than it was before. 
Transient, indeed, the pleasures of this earth — 
They are but icebergs, glittering in the sun, 
Whose very beauty their destruction proves. 



GEORGE POLLEN. 



NIGHT. 

With notes explanatory, or otherwise, hy the author, 

_L IS Night ! ' the time when common ' men 

Seek dim-eyed slumber's ' soft repose, 
When on the roost, both cock and hen 

Strive on one leg* to get a doze. 
'Tis now the maiden, moved by love. 

Repeats the words she's heard to-day, 
And inn'cent ' as the tender ' dove. 
Believes in all her love does say. 
'Tis now that crime, with stealthy foot, 

Creeps ' o'er this sinning world of woe ; 
'Tis now that chimneys ' grimed with soot. 

Look down upon the embers' glow, 
And say " good night " to smoke's blue streams. 

Which through the day their course -pursue 
In varied shapes, like phantom dreams," 

That never turn out true. 
And now the moon is dimmed '° with clouds, 
37 



290 WRITINGS OF GEORGE POLLEN. 

The air is filled with damps, 
Which, thickening in whitened " shrouds, 

Surround the nightly " lamps. 
The city stands " a lonesome " thing, 

Where, not long since, a busy ^* crowd 
Its shadows here and there did fling. 

And filled the earth *" with noises loud." 

^ Sublime aunouncement, 'Tis night ! ^ Not in any invidious 
sense of distinction between men, but men in common. ^ Beau- 
tiful personification with dim eyes. * Simple and true to nature, 
^ Not that pigeons are more innocent per se than other animals, 
but an acknowledged type of innocence. ^Nor universally 
" tender," having been sometimes found tough. ' " Crime 
creeps" — beautiful specimen of alliteration. * Pathetic per- 
sonification of chimneys — vivid picture of the same looking 
sentimental. ® For the aerial nature of " smoke," vide Natural 
Philosophy. ^^ Its light sometimes entirely " put out." Query, 
whether clouds contain carbon ? " Funereal impression of 
lamps in a fog, shrouds generally white, not red, green, blue, 
violet, indigo, yellow, orange-color, nor, I would humbly add, 
black. ^"^ Lamps not always " nightly," " as lamp of day," 
" miner's lamp," &c. '^ /. ^., not in ruins. " Shuddering sensa- 
tion of loneliness. '^Various avocations of man. *® Poetic 
license, whole taken for a part. ^'' Noises usually " loud," some- 
times not so much so — beautiful contrast between the " loud 
noises" made by a crowd, and the quiet fall of its shadows. 
Generally — the three lines ending in " true," " damps," and 
" lamps " being each a foot too short — dbject, to relieve the 
monotony of the poem. 



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